


Corporal Drabbles

by Captain_GiganticScorpion



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Smallville, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Stranger Things (TV 2016), Supernatural
Genre: Belting, Corporal Punishment, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, F/M, Hairbrush, M/M, Panties, Spanking, Swearing, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teenchesters, Underage Drinking, Wet Dream, Wooden spoons, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2020-09-29 22:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 45
Words: 54,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20443856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_GiganticScorpion/pseuds/Captain_GiganticScorpion
Summary: Random drabbles about spankings- some disciplinary, some fun.Pairings listed in chapter titles





	1. Robert & Oliver Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter includes spanking of a minor, mentions of underage sex and underage drinking

Robert was not surprised to see a tired-eyed Tommy Merlyn emerge from his kitchen when he returned to his house. For the better part of many years now, Oliver had been failing to sneak Tommy in under his nose, eventually giving up and letting the boy wander freely. Robert didn't mind, while the school administrators might say differently, he found Tommy to be a calm and well-behaved kid who helped rein Oliver in a bit. He waved at the boy and proceeded to follow his wife upstairs to their room, leaving Tommy and his daughter downstairs.

*

Robert eventually found Oliver in the library. Of course, he wasn't reading, instead, he was sleeping on one of the leather couches. Robert shook his head at him. He picked up a book from the nearest shelf and dropped it onto the table behind him, creating a sound loud enough to wake his son. "What the fuck?" growled Oliver, sitting up, startled. Robert glowered at him. There were bags under the boy's eyes and he could tell by his groggy expression that he was hungover. There were stains all over the pale blue t-shirt he was wearing and Robert doubted that the boy's underwear had been washed in days. "Oh, hey, Dad," Oliver muttered, rubbing his eyes. 

"Mom spoke to Tommy," Robert said. "He gave us the impression that you'd only had a little to drink, but, judging by your demeanour, that's not the case."

"So what?" grunted Oliver. 

"We trust you to be responsible, Ollie," Robert sighed, "especially when we leave Thea with you, and you can't be responsible if you're intoxicated." 

"Raisa was here," Oliver shrugged. 

"That's besides the point," huffed Robert. "Look, how many people were here apart from you and Tommy."

"No one."

"No one?" 

"No one."

"So, is that your red thong that your mother found in our bed?" Oliver's ears flushed pink as Robert stared at him. Oliver dropped his head to stare at his feet. "Go to your room, Ollie. Take a shower and wait there," Robert snapped. Oliver nodded and padded out of the room. 

Robert went downstairs to talk to Thea and Tommy, before he went back up to Oliver's room. He made three mugs of coffee, sliding one across the counter to Tommy and taking the other two upstairs. "Moria?" he questioned, padding into their bedroom.

"I'm running the bath, dear," his wife called.

"Alright, well, I'll put your coffee on top of the dresser."

"Thank you," she replied in a sing-song voice. Robert sipped his own beverage and made his way to Oliver's room. 

Oliver was sat on his bed, his eyes on his hands, when Robert walked in. Robert studied him for a moment, before sitting on the bed beside him. "Oliver," he said sternly. Oliver's eyes darted to meet his own. "How many people were at our house."

"Only four people."

"Four?"

"Tommy and these three girls."

"How much did you drink?"

"Two beers."

"Really?"

"Here."

"Where else did you go?" puzzled Robert.

"Tommy and I went to a party the other side of the city," Oliver said guiltily. "A kid who used to go to our school was throwing it. We drank there and took these girls home. They left this morning."

"How did you get there?"

"Tommy drove."

"How did you get back?"

"I drove."

"While drunk?"

"I wasn't caught."

"That's not the point, you idiot! You could have crashed and been killed."

"Well, I'm not dead."

"How would you feel if Tommy or one of the girls ended up dying or in a coma?" 

"Not good," Oliver mumbled.

"Where was Thea throughout this?"

"Here with Raisa. Don't worry, I paid her."

"So, Raisa was okay with this?"

"I told her Tommy had had a family emergency and I was going with him," Oliver muttered. "She agreed to stay with Thea." 

"Do I want to know what you were doing in our room, on our _bed_?"

"I think you can guess," Oliver said, smirking.

"You have a room, Oliver."

"Tommy had already crashed in there." 

"So you hooked up with a girl in our bed?"

"No, I hooked up with _two_ girls in your bed," Oliver said smugly. Robert shook his head. 

"Do you want to explain that to your mother?" 

"Hey, Tommy got a blow job in my bathroom."

"Then talk to Tommy about how inappropriate that is, you don't get to decide to do it in our room because your own is occupied." 

"Alright, alright," Oliver huffed. 

"Wait here, I need to speak to your mother." Oliver nodded and watched Robert leave the room. 

*

When Robert returned, Oliver was laying on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling. Robert cleared his throat to signal his presence and Oliver sat up. Robert shut the door behind him and sat on the bed beside his son. "Just so you know, Raisa has taken Thea and Tommy out for lunch and your mother is in the bath in our wing," Robert said sternly. "Nobody can hear us."

"Th-that's good," Oliver said nervously. Robert could tell that he was connecting the dots to what was about to happen.

"Just to clarify, in just twenty-four hours you lied to Raisa to manipulate her into watching your sister, went across town to a party, got incredibly drunk, drove back drunk, brought people to the house when you were explicitly told by your mother not to, and hooked up with two girls in our room; is that all?"

"Um... and-and we broke a window downstairs."

"What?"

"We broke one of the windows downstairs."

"How?"

"Throwing stuff around."

"While drunk?"

"Yeah."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Me and one of the girls."

"What girl?"

"Ask Tommy, I didn't catch their names."

"You didn't even know their names and you let them into our house?"

"Yeah."

"What car did you take?"

"Tommy's." 

"Get over here now," Robert growled.

"I'm right next to you, dad," Oliver chuckled nervously. 

"_Not _funny." Oliver nodded. Slowly, he stood up and draped himself over his father's lap. Robert positioned him so his ass and sit-spots were easily accessible and sighed. "You're fifteen, Oliver, there will be time for partying and cute girls when you're older."

"But then I'll be boring like you and wear stupid suits and-and talk about taxes and stuff," Oliver groaned. Robert stifled a laugh. He toyed with the ideal of pulling down his son's underwear, but decided that on top of the hangover, it would be lesson enough. He quickly brought his hand onto Oliver's ass before the boy had any further time to dwell on it. 

"Apart from the window, is there anything else you need to confess?" he asked.

"N-No," Oliver gasped. Robert gave him a few more slaps to the rump before lifting his knee so he could get a better angle for his sit-spots. Oliver bit his lip as the smacks reigned down. "Y-You can stop now."

"_I'll_ decide when to stop, kiddo." Oliver groaned as Robert brought his hand down again. "Last fifteen, alright. Count them." He brought his hand to smack down. 

"One." Oliver gasped. Robert brought his palm down again. "Two! Three! F-Four!" Oliver yelped. Robert brought his hand to the tops of Oliver's thighs. "Five! S-Six! Seven!" Robert took his hand to Oliver's left thigh. "Eight!" Robert brought his attention back to Oliver's ass. "Nine! Te-T-Ten! Eleven! T-Tw-Twelve!"

"Last three, kiddo," Robert whispered. He brought his hand quickly down. 

"Thirteen! F-Fourteen!" Robert paused, giving Oliver time to sniffle, before cracking his hand down again. "Fifteen!" Robert rubbed Oliver's back as the teen sniffed, rubbing his eyes with his t-shirt. Robert rubbed the boy's back as he helped him stand up and lay on the bed. He took a fresh t-shirt out of his closet and threw it to him.

"When you feel up to it, change out of those, you reek," he said, before he ruffled his son's hair and left the room, content in the knowledge that he wouldn't be finding any unwanted underwear in his bed any time soon. 


	2. Malcolm & Tommy Merlyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor

Tommy arrived home at midday on Sunday morning. He had spent most of the weekend hidden away in Laurel's house, sleeping on her floor and eating the sweets she could sneak upstairs past her dad and the 'no food upstairs' rule he had created after Sara left old pizza in her room for two weeks, causing an ant infestation. It wasn't all bad, however. It was the first time all summer Tommy had managed to escape his father's house. The man had grounded him for not getting a perfect report card, which he knew would be impossible anyway because he would not buy Tommy a gym kit, which was an automatic fail. 

Tommy had not expected his father to be home when he returned, but he was, sat downstairs in one of the old, leather recliners of his, drinking scotch from a tumbler. Malcolm's eyes darted towards his son, who had tried to sneak past him to get to his room. "Where've you been?" Malcolm hissed.

"Nowhere," Tommy lied quickly. 

"I know you haven't been in your room, boy, where've you been?"

"I-I was with Ollie."

"Really, because that was the first place I checked and Moira said they hadn't seen you?"

"Oliver snuck me in."

"Really, because he knows he's not supposed to do that, so if that's your story, I'll have to ring Moira to tell her."

"Why does it matter where I was? I wasn't bothering you and I wasn't spending your money." 

"That's not at all the point. Get over the sofa, now." Tommy groaned and bent over the arm of the couch. "Sneaking out, lying, talking back, this really hasn't been your best weekend, has it?" Tommy didn't bother to respond. Malcolm took off his belt and folded it in half, before slapping it against Tommy's rear. He gave him ten firm hits, before ripping down Tommy's jeans and underwear. "How old are you now?" he barked.

"Sixteen, sir."

"Then you'll get seventeen on bare. Count them out." He brought the belt down quickly.

"One," Tommy rasped out. Malcolm brought the belt down quickly. "Two! Th-Three!" Malcolm rolled his shoulders, before bringing the belt down again, speedily, hearing the sound of it burning his son's flesh red. "Four! Five! S-Six!" Malcolm held his son's back to stop him from moving and continued the motion. "Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!" 

"Stop shouting," growled Malcolm. Tommy bit his lip as the belt was brought down again.

"Eleven! Tw-twelve! Th-thirteen!" Malcom took a step closer so he could cover more of his son's rear with the belt and smacked him down with it. "Fourteen! Fifteen! Sixteen! Seventeen! Eight-eighteen? Nine-nineteen?" 

"Alright, go," snarled Malcolm. "Go upstairs, now." Tommy nodded and pulled his jeans up, before hurrying away. 


	3. Oliver & Thea Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor. Set in season 1

"What was that?" snapped Oliver, as his sister shuffled into the house. He was waiting for her in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. His sister huffed and rolled her eyes.

"What was what, Ollie?" she asked.

"That, last night, at my party."

"Uh... dancing? Having fun? Is that a new concept to you?"

"Don't play dumb, Thea, you know you're not twenty-one!"

"And how old were you when you started drinking? I swear, Dad gave you beers since you were thirteen."

"Don't bring him into this," flared Oliver. "This is about you, not me."

"No, it's about your inability to realise I've grown up."

"Don't make this worse on yourself than it already is," Oliver hissed. Thea rolled her eyes and stormed out of the room. She took off her heels at the foot of the stairs and marched up to her room. She flopped onto her bed and groaned. Her head felt sore and she was incredibly tired, but she sat up and took a wipe off her dresser so she could remove her make-up. 

Thea had cleaned her face and changed into an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants by the time that Oliver banged his fist on her door. He had decided that he had needed to calm down before confronting her again. "Go away, Oliver," she called coldly, sitting on her bed and playing with the corner of the comforter. Oliver scoffed and pushed open the door. 

"You know I can't do that," he said. "I can't let this slide."

"Oh, please, you used to go off to parties all the time when you were my age to drink, get laid, have fun. Remember that, fun?"

"You're not going out to get laid, are you?"

"Oh, jeez, Ollie, no! And, even if I was, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Right."

"Seriously, Ollie, what's the big deal?"

"Look, Thea, I know you think I had it much easier than you, but I didn't. Dad really knew how to hold down the law when he needed to, which he did on several occasions. My teenage years weren't as fun as you seem to believe."

"Oh, yeah, what did Dad do, lecture you on how not to get caught? Spare me, Ollie, I need a nap."

"I'll show you what Dad did," Oliver growled. Before Thea knew it, she was being draped over her brother's knees, staring at her carpet.

"Oliver, this is _ridiculous_," she cried. 

"No, it's not, it's an attitude adjustment," Oliver scoffed. He brought his hand down onto Thea's rear and grimaced as she squealed.

"No, no, no," she said. "Stop it." Oliver brought his hand down again, rhythmically changing from one cheek to the other as dumpy tears filled Thea's tired eyes. She tried to pull herself out of her brother's grip, but Oliver kept one hand firmly on the centre of her back as he brought his hand down again. Thea bit her lip, but still cried out as Oliver's large palm covered her sit spots.

"Three more," her brother whispered. He carried them out, as planned, before pulling Thea up and hugging her. Thea let herself sob into his chest as he pulled her onto the bed. He took a blanket out of her dresser and draped it over her. "You can have your nap now," he told her, "you seem tired. I'll wake you when dinner's ready." Thea nodded sleepily and sniffed. "Don't do that again, Speedy, it's dangerous." Thea nodded. 


	4. May & Peter Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor. Homecoming AU.

May was on her knees in the centre of the living room, crying into one of Peter's sweaters, when Peter strode through the door. The only light outside was the few streetlamps and it was cold. His phone was burning into his thigh, alive with several worried messages, and he felt guilty enough before he saw the woman on the floor. Peter rushed over to her and hugged her softly. "P-Peter?" May gasped. "You're okay?"

"Yeah, May," Peter sighed. "I'm fine."

"Where've you been? I was told you left school and didn't come back."

"I-I had stuff to do, the - the internship," Peter lied. May narrowed her eyes.

"You had to do work for the Stark Internship at eleven am?"

"Yes."

"What happened to your Spanish quiz? You worked so hard studying for that."

"May, this internship can give me a shot at a real good future."

"And good grades at a good school can't? Honestly, Peter, I can't fathom what's gotten into you," May huffed. Peter hung his head. "Just-just go wash up. I'll heat up dinner and we'll talk in the morning." Peter nodded and shuffled into the bathroom.

*

Peter awoke the following morning to the smell of eggs. He strode into the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and padded into the kitchen. May was plating up two servings of fried egg on toast when he arrived, and there was a glass of water on the table for him. "Morning, May," Peter said brightly. May nodded and him and sat down. Peter raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"We have a meeting with your principal today at noon," May sighed, pushing Peter's plate towards him. "Apparently, it's about your drop in attendance and participation. You're not allowed to go to school until then." Peter huffed. He had promised Ned that he'd be there for their math test, but now he couldn't be.

"Is there nothing you can do, May?" Peter groaned. "I _need_ to go to math, Ned's counting on me."

"You should have thought of that before, huh? Don't you think he was counting on you before, in other classes, in robotics?"

"Point taken," Peter grumbled. May nodded and sipped her water as Peter cut up his toast. "The eggs are good," he said, after trying his first bite. May smiled at him and cut up her own food into four pieces. 

Peter waited in the living room while May was in the shower. He couldn't be bothered to turn on the TV, so he just sat on the couch, his eyes travelling from the back of his hands, to the ceiling, to the blank TV and back to the back of his hands. Although little was going on in the room, Peter still felt as if his senses had been overwhelmed. 

When May returned, she found Peter slumped on the couch, his eyes on his phone. "Peter, give me your phone," she snapped, holding her hand out. Peter frowned. He knew that they hadn't discussed grounding yet, but he didn't expect his phone to be taken. 

"I _need_ it," Peter insisted. 

"Oh, really, why?"

"What if I miss the bus and I need to call you?"

"Oh, that's not happening any time soon; Ned's mother has said that she'll drive you until further notice and then I can pick you up from Ned's house when I get back from the hospital. "

"But-but what about the internship? My future?"

"I'm starting to think that this internship isn't all that you've described it to be; you're becoming distant from me, your friends, your teachers and now you're walking straight out of school." Peter's face fell; his phone is the only way that he was able to contact Happy or Mr Stark and if he didn't have it and they needed him, they might never trust him again.

"_Please_, May," he begged. "This internship is so important to me."

"What, and your education isn't? Your friends aren't? Colleges look for a lot more than one reference from a company, even Stark Industries, you still need the grades."

"Maybe I don't want to go to college anymore, maybe I want to continue to work with Mr Stark." 

"Peter, this is insane! You can't just throw away your whole life for one thing! Honestly, Peter, I'd've hoped you'd be more mature than this, but this clearly shows that you aren't." 

"Won't it be better if I don't go to college? It's so expensive and if I get Mr Stark to write my reference, I could probably get a job in the physics field anyway." 

"Peter, enough! This is nonsense. Go and fetch my spoon."

"What? May! No!" 

"Seriously, Peter, you need a serious attitude adjustment. Kitchen, now!" Peter groaned. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he padded to the kitchen. May's wooden spoon was kept in the draw under the sink, but he made sure to inspect other draws first to prolong the time, before he gripped the heavy wooden spoon and strode back to the living room.

May wasted no time in pulling Peter over her lap and bringing her hand down onto his rear. Peter shifted uncomfortably, trying to get away, but she continued. Once she had decided that he had stopped struggling, she picked up the spoon from beside her on the couch and brought it down sharply onto Peter's ass. "I need you to know that you need to be responsible," May lectured as she continued to spank. "Understanding that is important and you need to improve your attitude to the commitments in your life, including school and your homework. This isn't like you and we're worried." Peter felt tears running down his face as May continued to bring the spoon down onto his rear. "Playing hooky and blaming it on this internship is not acceptable," May told him. She brought the spoon down onto his ass again sharply, before dropping it onto the couch and rubbing his back. Peter sniffed and rubbed his face in his hands as May helped him. He sat beside her and leant his head on her shoulder. "Peter, you know I love you, right?" she whispered.

"Yeah, May," Peter sniffed. 

"You can't let this internship rule your life, if you keep acting like this, I'm going to have to stop you being involved with it. Other things are important too."

"Yes, May." 

"You do understand that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You don't have to continue extra-curricular clubs if you really don't want to, but if your school work continues to suffer, I'll have to email Mr Hogan or someone."

"Okay, May."

"Why don't you go and shower before we head to school?"

"Alright." Peter stood up and shuffled towards the bathroom. "Hey, May, I love you too," he said. May smiled at him. 


	5. Dean Winchester & Ben Braeden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor. Set after swan song.

Ben sat quietly in the living room, his head in his hands, as he waited for his punishment to be announced. He knew that he hadn't acted rationally, but he hadn't expected the school to phone his mother. His mother, however, was at work, and Dean was on his lunch break, so Dean had had to collect him. Dean had also had to take the rest of the day off, which Ben could tell that he wasn't happy about. As soon as they returned home, Dean marched upstairs to call Lisa, while Ben remained in the living room. He kept his ears open, listening out for Dean's footsteps. 

Ben pulled off his shoes as he heard Dean march downstairs. He slumped back against the cushions of the couch and tried to be as still as possible. However, that didn't seem to work, as Dean stared right at him. "You look like you're willing that couch to eat you," he chuckled. Ben remained still and silent. "Not that I'd blame you, you're in it pretty heavy, buddy." Dean sat beside him and patted Ben's knee affectionately. "This isn't like you, buddy, what happened?"

"Ryan Humphrey pushed one of my friend's down the stairs and when I went to help her up, he pushed me, so I pushed him back," Ben muttered. "One of his friends grabbed my arms behind my back so he could just punch me while I couldn't fight back. When the bell rang for class, they let me go, so-so I jumped him."

"You tackled him?"

"Yeah."

"Ryan or the friend?"

"Ryan."

"You know, Ben, I understand why that would aggravate you, but that was clearly not the best thing to do. Didn't you hurt him?"

"I-I think I damaged his nose and it's likely he'll get a black eye," Ben shrugged. "My friend, who he pushed down the stairs, is worse off than he is." 

"Ben, you know that violence isn't the way to deal with those types of situations. The kid's bigger than you and you could have been seriously hurt."

"I was angry." 

"That's no excuse."   
  
"Sorry." 

"I believe you, buddy, but you know we can't just let this slide."

"Oh, come on, Dean, the school is already giving me detention after school on Thursday; isn't that enough."

"I'm afraid your mother doesn't think so, buddy," Dean said. He did genuinely sound apologetic as he stood up and smiled softly down at Ben. Ben, who could tell where this was going, ducked under his arm and fled upstairs. 

Ben locked the door of his bedroom and hid in his closet. It was not the roomiest, but he presumed that, if Dean could get into his room, he'd check under the bed first, and Ben could slip past him, out of the door. He bit his clenched fist to stop himself from making too much noise as he tried to slow his breathing back down. He heard Dean's footsteps approach, before the man banged his fist on the door. "Ben, come on, buddy, don't make this harder than it needs to be," Dean called. Ben did not respond. "Come on, buddy, I told your mom that I'd have this dealt with before she got back, so you're gonna get us in trouble with her." Ben still didn't say anything. Dean banged his fist on the door violently again. "Ben, come on." 

Ben exhaled shakily as he heard Dean step away. He didn't know where he was going, but he was just glad that he had left him alone. Ben shifted a plastic box filled with old comic books his grandparents had bought him so it was in front of the closet door and sat in the corner. He tried peeling off one of the old soccer stickers he had on the back wall as he heard Dean's footsteps approach again. "Ben, come on, kid, you're a good kid, don't do this," Dean called. Ben stilled his movements and ducked his head. He heard Dean groan. He could then hear the clanking of metal on metal, but he couldn't work out what Dean was doing.

Eventually, he heard Dean throw his door open. He threw the hinges, which he had apparently unscrewed, to the floor and unlocked the door. "Buddy, where are you?" Dean called. As Ben had expected, the man glanced under the bed. He crouched down so he could see beneath, while Ben kicked the box out of the way and sped out of the room. "Kid?" Dean called after him. Ben rushed downstairs. He pushed open the front door, before turning the corner and locking himself in the cupboard under the stairs. "BEN?" Dean shouted. Ben grimaced as Dean's footsteps bounded overhead loudly. "Oh, shit," he could hear Dean say, presuming he saw the open door. Ben smirked to himself. "Come on," Dean growled. "KID? Kid, please tell me you're still here?" Ben chortled to himself, but he immediately regretted it, as he was startled by Dean's fist banging on the door. "Come on, kid, don't be an idiot, come out." Ben bit his lip; there was nowhere he could escape. He had locked himself in and Dean was outside, unscrewing the hinges of the cupboard door. Ben winced when Dean pushed the door open and shook his head. Dean was sweaty and scowling. "What the hell, man? What're you playing at?" he snapped. Ben tried to rush past him, but Dean gripped his bicep. "Not again, buddy, come on." 

Dean pulled Ben back upstairs to his room. The door was still on the floor and his closet was still a mess. Dean sat on the foot of the bed and helped Ben unbuckled his belt. "D-Dean, this-this really isn't ne-necessary," Ben spluttered. Dean chuckled humourlessly and pulled Ben's jeans down.

"Really, cos I think it is," Dean snarled. Ben dropped his head. "Kid," Dean said, using two of his fingers to lift Ben's chin so he could meet his eyes, "getting into fights at school, running from punishment and wasting my time is not going to help your cause." 

"I know," Ben murmured. 

"Good, now, come on." Dean pulled the boy over his lap and massaged his tense shoulders, before he brought his hand down onto the seat of Ben's rump. The boy's boxers were thin, but he was thankful for them nevertheless. Dean didn't need to spank for long before Ben was still over his lap, biting his tongue to will himself not to cry. "I'm gonna give you ten more, alright?" Dean whispered. Ben nodded shortly. Dean brought his hand down quickly onto Ben's sit spots, causing the boy to grunt. Once he stilled, he rubbed the boy's back softly and pulled him into a hug, positioning Ben's ass between his knees so not rub on his own jeans. Ben buried his head in Dean's neck and sniffed. 

Once Ben had recomposed himself, Dean helped him remove his jeans from around his ankles and ruffled his hair. "You should go an take a shower," Dean told him. "I'm going to fix these doors before your mother gets back." Ben chuckled as he shuffled away. "Hey, kid," Dean called.

"What?"

"Do you want to order pizza, now?" Ben turned around and nodded. Dean smiled at him and took the screwdriver out of his pocket to re-screw the hinges. 


	6. Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the Deathly Hallows.

"I see what you mean," Hermione drawled, "those jeans _ are _ too small for you."

"Exactly," Ron grumbled. "They're tight and uncomfortable."

"If it's any consolation, your ass looks great."

"Oh, really?" Ron leered. 

"Would I lie to you, Ronald?" Hermione stuck her arm out and slapped Ron's ass. He turned around to stare at her, where she was sat on the couch.

"Where's Harry?"

"_That's_ what you're thinking of right now?" Hermione chuckled. 

"Yeah."

"He went upstairs," Hermione shrugged. "Maybe he's gone for a shower or something." Ron nodded and sat beside her. He kissed her softly and ran a hand along her neck. Hermione ran a hand up his back and kissed slowly. 

"These jeans are chafing," Ron grumbled, standing up and rubbing his thighs. Hermione chuckled and slapped him again. Ron rolled his eyes. 

"I mean, if you want to take off the jeans, I won't stop you," she drawled, "_but_, there will be consequences." Ron chuckled. He threw his belt to the floor and shuffled awkwardly out of the tight jeans. He sat beside Hermione on the couch and they resumed making out.

Once they broke apart, Hermione maneuvered them so Ron was laying on the couch. She picked up his discarded belt from the floor and brought it down onto his ass. "Ouch, 'mione," he groaned. "Tha' hurt."

"I warned you there would be consequences," Hermione said, bringing the belt down again. Ron groaned and spun around, staring up at her, a mock pout on his face. Hermione dropped the belt as he pulled her down into another kiss. Ron's hand snaked under her shirt to rub one of her nipples through her bra as Hermione rubbed Ron's bulge.

"Come on," Ron hissed. Hermione slid her hand into his boxers and began to slowly jerk him as Ron unbuttoned her jeans. "Want to go and take advantage of the many bedrooms?" he asked.

"Good idea." 


	7. Oliver Queen & William Clayton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes spanking of a minor.

William slammed the door as he marched into the apartment. Felicity stormed in after him, muttering under her breath. "William," she snapped. "WILLIAM! GET BACK HERE NOW!" William rolled his eyes and proceeded to march into his room. He locked his door and flopped onto his bed. "William," called Felicity. "Kitchen, now!" William groaned into his pillow, but did not do as instructed.

*

William felt his stomach grumble as he heard the front door slam open again. Felicity had given up on coaxing him out a few hours ago, but he presumed that Oliver would continue. "Hey, William," came Oliver's voice, after he rapped his knuckles against the door, "what's going on?" William remained silent. "William, what happened? Why are you mad at us?"

"Can you just leave me alone?" William huffed. "'M tired."

"You can nap after we clear this up," Oliver said sternly. "Come out, now." William scoffed. He pulled off his socks and ran a hand through his hair. He opened his rucksack and pulled out a tube of Pringles that he had bought for the journey back, but he hadn't needed as Felicity had brought him a sandwich. "William, _now,_" Oliver growled.

"Just go away," William snap.

"William," came Felicity's voice, "this is not going to take long." 

"I don't care." 

"William," growled Oliver, "now, I mean it." 

"Fine," William huffed. He unlocked the door and pulled it open to see both his father and step-mother glaring at him. 

"Thank you, finally," groaned Felicity. "Care to tell us what's going on?" 

"What happened to your face?" Oliver asked quickly, raising an eyebrow. 

"Nothing," huffed William.

"Really?"

"William, did something happen at school?" Felicity asked. William shook his head. Felicity crossed her arms over her chest. William stuffed his hands in his pocket and rolled his eyes. 

"William, cut the attitude," Oliver snapped. He turned to Felicity. "Do you mind starting dinner?" Felicity stared at him and raised an eyebrow, but left him with his son. Oliver took William's arm and pulled him back into his room. "William, tell me what's going on and why _now_," he demanded.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" William groaned. 

"William, you've been suspended from school and you've been rude to Felicity all afternoon; what's going on?"

"Am I not allowed to just be having a bad day?" William grumbled.

"But that's not the case, is it? Clearly there's something going on and I need to know what it is."

"No, what you need to do is get the fuck out of my room," William growled. Oliver widened his eyes. William narrowed his eyes and stared defiantly at his father. 

"William, I've been patient, but if you refuse to work with us, I'll skip straight to your punishment. How to you expect me to help if you won't tell me what's wrong?"

"Well, maybe, I'm not a baby and I don't need your fucking help."

"That's it." Oliver sat on the bed and pulled William over to him. He pulled down William's sweats and dragged him over his lap. He brought his hand repeatedly down over William's rear. William bit his lip and tried to pull away, but Oliver kept his arms behind his back so he couldn't pull away. "Are you willing to talk to me, now?" Oliver asked sternly. 

"Get offa me," growled William. He kicked his legs trying to pull away, but Oliver was relentless. "Let. Me. Go," William insisted. Oliver did not cease, he only pulled down William's boxers and resumed his smacking. William groaned and tried to pull away again, but Oliver did not let up. "Ow. Ow. Stop. STOP! Stop. It hurts," William moaned. 

"I know it does," Oliver said, finally stopping, "but if it's what it takes to get you to co-operate, then we'll have to do it." William huffed. "Ten more," Oliver said. William groaned. Oliver finished quickly, before rubbing the boy's back and helping him lay on the bed, allowing him to re-arrange his own underwear. "Will, we love you, you know that," Oliver said kindly, running a hand through William's hair, "but we can't help you if you don't communicate with us. No matter what happened at school, you can't take it out on Felicity."

"Alright."

"Good. We'll talk more after dinner, alright?"Oliver smiled at his son and left him to rest.


	8. Tom Holland & Harrison Osterfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains domestic discipline.  
Set around the time of Homecoming.

Tom was tired. He had been working non-stop for months; filming, going to conventions, going to press-junkets, filming re-shoots and now he was half-way through his press tour. He had promoted movies before, but there was something different about being the star of a Marvel movie. He felt as if he was under more pressure than last time and he was definitely feeling the stress. Fortunately for Tom, he had been able to bring his boyfriend along as his personal assistant and having him around was not only helpful professionally, but it helped Tom stay grounded personally and feel more confident. 

Most of the time, while Tom was in meetings or interviews, Harrison would have things to do. Occasionally, Harrison would go to watch him, while ensuring Tom had a cup of coffee, but Harrison had his own photo shoots and auditions to go to, but Tom was friendly enough with his cast mates to convince himself he didn't mind. 

One of Harrison's main duties was to manage their travel experiences. He was in charge of booking the flights, getting Tom out of bed to head to the airport, getting Tom- and himself- a coffee to wake him up and retrieving their belongings. Harrison rolled his eyes as Tom joined in the obnoxious clap to mark the landing of the plane. Harrison shook his head as he stood up. He reached for his rucksack overhead, while Tom turned his baseball cap around so it was facing the right way. Tom led the way down the aisle as they clambered off the plane. 

Harrison collected his suitcase from the conveyor belt, before he went to meet Tom at the back of the airport. They still had almost an hour until their car arrived and both were still half-asleep. "I'll get marvel to give you a raise if you go and get me a cookie and a coffee," Tom said sleepily. Harrison rolled his eyes and pushed Tom's hat off his head, but went off to find a coffee shop anyway. 

Harrison handed Tom his coffee while the shorter man was on his phone. He left his cookie on the arm of the chair and sat on his own seat. He bit into the doughnut he had bought and sighed. Both were itching to get to their hotel, but they had more than forty minutes until the car came. Harrison sipped his coffee and peered out of the window at the next plane that was boarding. "Are you working tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah, all day," Tom groaned. "I need a fucking nap, man."

"Do you want me to pick up an Indian take-away for the hotel then?"

"I'd love that." 

Harrison carried his rucksack and Tom's rucksack, while wheeling his suitcase, out of the airport. He smiled and agreed to help take pictures for a couple of fans who spotted Tom under his disguise of baggy hoodie and baseball cap, but they managed to make it to the parking lot a lot more efficiently than Harrison had expected. He loaded the luggage into the trunk and followed Tom into the back of the car. "There's stuff in the middle there," the driver told them. "Snacks and such." Tom pulled open the rest between them and pulled out a water bottle.

"Do you want one?" he asked Harrison, who shrugged. Tom threw a bottle at him anyway, along with a pack of crackers. Tom opened a pack of mints and popped one into his mouth as they started to drive.

"Not to be rude, but do you know how long the journey will take?" Harrison asked.

"It all depends on the traffic, buddy," the driver replied. Harrison nodded. 

Technically, Harrison and Tom were sharing a room, but there were two bedrooms in their large suite. They abandoned their rucksacks in the living room area and Harrison went to inspect his bed and the TV, while Tom went to have a shower. 

Harrison was in the middle of a nap when Tom barged into his part of the room. Harrison jolted awake as Tom threw his hat at his face. Harrison rubbed his cheek and sat up. He studied his boyfriend, who was dressed in just a towel, his abs sparkling under the water from his shower, and smirked."Hey, buddy," Harrison said. "What's up?"

"Where's my suitcase?" Tom asked grumpily.

"I-Isn't it by the sofa?"

"No. Where is it?"

"Uh... I don't know."

"Remember that girl we saw in the airport?"

"Yes."

"Well, in the pictures she took, we only had one suitcase."

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit, I don't have any of my stuff now."

"I-I'm sorry, pal."

"I'm not your 'pal' ; you've fucked me over."

"S-Sorry s-sir," Harrison stammered. 

"Go and kneel by the sofa. I need to calm down." Harrison nodded and marched out of the room. He kicked off his shoes and left his hat on the sofa, before getting on his knees and waiting. 

When Tom marched into the room, now wearing a pair of boxers and a black t-shirt that was definitely Harrison's, he sat on the sofa and stared down at his boyfriend. "Tomorrow, you're going to ring the airport before you do anything else and ensure that they still have my suitcase and that they haven't sent it back to London," Tom demanded.

"Why would they send it to London, sir?" Harrison pondered.

"Cos that's the address on the suitcase you fucking div."

"Oh yeah, right."

"If you fail to do that, or, if the suitcase isn't there, there's a large brush in the bathroom that would toast your ass nice and red for me. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you want that?"

"No, sir." 

"Alright, now, take off your sweats and get your useless ass over my lap." Harrison nodded shortly. He pulled off his socks and kicked off his sweats, before lowering himself over Tom's lap. Instantly, Tom brought a hard belt down onto his ass. Harrison winced. "Shut up," Tom ordered. Harrison nodded and bit his knuckles and Tom covered his ass with smacks from the belt. After two dozen smacks or so, Tom dropped the belt to the ground and pulled down Harrison's boxers. "I'm going to give you fifteen and you're going to count them. Get one wrong and we start again, got it?"

"Yeah."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, sir," Harrison corrected.

"Good boy," Tom said, running a hand through Harrison's hair. He smiled at him and smacked his hand against his boyfriend;s ass.

"One," Harrison choked out. Tom smacked his hand down again quickly. "Two." Harrison gasped as Tom smacked each cheek quickly, before rubbing the small of Harrison's back. "Th-three. F-F-Four!" Tom smacked Harrison twice on his left cheek, "F-Five. S-Six," and then twice on his right cheek, "S-S-Seven. Eight." Tom smacked the centre of Harrison's ass and chuckled when he felt Harrison's dick harden against his leg. "Nine."

"Naughty boy," Tom muttered, smacking Harrison again.

"Ten."

"You're not supposed to be enjoying your punishment, naughty boy." Tom smacked his right thigh and quickly his left thigh twice.

"Eleven. Tw-twelve! Thirteen."

"Almost there," Tom muttered as Harrison thrust his hips. "Don't ruin it now." Tom slapped him twice quickly and rubbed his back soothingly.

"Fourteen. Fifteen!" 

"What do you say?"

"Sorry, sir. Thank you for the punishment, sir."

"Good boy," Tom murmured, smiling. He massaged Harrison's back as he pulled up his boxers again and kissed the back of his neck. Harrison rolled over and smiled at him. "I'm not helping you with that," Tom said, nodding at his bulge. Harrison stuck out his bottom lip. "Go and sort it out in the shower." Harrison nodded and stood up. He pressed a kiss to the top of Tom's head, before his boyfriend stood up and enveloped him in a hug.

"I am sorry," Harrison muttered. "I didn't mean to leave-"

"I get it, you were tired," Tom shrugged. "I don't appreciate it, but I know it was an accident. I hope you know I'll be stealing your clothes until then."

"When don't you?"

"Shut up and go jerk off."

"You are a jerk off."

"You're _so_ mature," groaned Tom, laying down on the sofa. Harrison blew him a kiss, before he padded into the bathroom, deliberately leaving the door open in hope his boyfriend would join him. 


	9. Lana Lang & Jason Teague

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter includes domestic discipline.  
4\. 04 (devoted) AU

"You're sweet, but you're insane," Lana huffed. Jason dropped his hand to grip her wrist and smiled at her. 

"You're beautiful, you know that," he muttered, leaning in. Lana put her hand to his chest to stop him coming any closer. Jason's brow creased a little, but he didn't complain. He massaged her wrist and the back of her hand gently with her thumb and smiled at her. 

"I need to go back to my advanced lit class and you need to... do whatever you do around here." 

"I want to talk to you."

"Well, now we've talked, I need to go back to class." Lana could have sworn that her boyfriend pouted. Lana turned to leave, but Jason gripped her wrist and spun her around. He wrapped an arm around her waist and leant in to kiss her again. This time, Lana slapped his cheek. Jason frowned. Lana hadn't meant to hurt him, but she was terrified of someone approaching them. 

"What's wrong?" Jason asked. "Did-did _I_ do something wrong, because I'd never want to do that; I just want to make you happy."

"I know, I know, which is great and sweet and nice but-" Lana paused when she noticed Jason release his hold on her waist and grip both of her wrists. He stared intently at her. "-but you can't just do this," she finally finished. "I need to get back to class."

"Don't go yet," Jason said, taking one of her hands in his. He leant down to kiss her again. Lana widened her eyes as she heard footsteps. 

"Can we talk in your office?" she asked quickly. Jason raised an eyebrow at her and pulled back. 

"Not the reaction I was hoping for, but sure." He led the way and opened the door to his office as a pair of girls walked past. 

"Hey, coach Teague," they said as they past. Jason waved at them. Lana sighed and sat on the chair opposite his desk. Jason closed the door and leant on the desk behind her. He rubbed her shoulder and smiled. 

"What can I do that will make you happy?"

"Nothing right now-"

"There has to be something," Jason said quickly, "you can't just say I can't make you happy. I-I'm trying." 

"I didn't mean it like that," Lana sighed. "I just meant that, right now, instead of trying to make me happy, you should be trying to get on with whatever it is coaches do and I have lit work to be doing." 

"But, you're always saying how boring that is, so, y'know, now you have an excuse to take a break."

"Yeah, Jason, it can be boring, but it's also important that I pass the class, so I can't be here right now."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No, I-I just don't need this right now, okay. Now, I'm going to go back to advanced lit while I think of an excuse to why you needed to see me, so you should get on with something."

"Do you want me to get you some coffee? They have some in the teachers' lounge." 

"No, thank you. I'm going to go now." 

"Oh, come on," Jason said. He shuffled in front of her and pecked her cheek. 

"Seriously, Jason, I don't know what's going on with you, but this needs to stop." Jason frowned. 

"I just wanted to see you." 

"And now you have, but I need to get back to class."

"Class will be over in twenty minutes, just wait until then."

"Jason, you're insane."

"Come on, relax."

"How can I relax? Not only am I going to have to do additional homework to ensure I can keep up with the class, but now people are going to be asking me why coach Teague is pulling me out of class when I'm not on any sports teams." 

"Can't they just accept I needed to talk to you?"

"Jason just-just shut up, okay? Just shut up."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Right now, yeah, kinda." Jason stuck out his bottom lip and widened his eyes. He stared at her as Lana brushed her hair behind her ear and shook her head. 

"Do you want me to lock the door?" he asked. "Then people won't be able to come in. I have the key here somewhere." He bent over the desk to rummage through one of the draws. Lana shook her head. 

"Stay there," she told him. Jason nodded and stilled. Lana walked around to the other side of the desk and picked up the eraser for the whiteboard. She hit it against one of her palms and, once she was satisfied that it was heavy enough, she strode over to Jason. She rubbed his back and tutted as he turned. "Stay put," she told him. 

"Okay."

"Good." Jason nodded and kept his eyes glued to his desk. Lana scoffed and hit his rear with the eraser. Jason jumped. "Stay still." Jason nodded. Lana hit him again. 

"What are you doing?" Jason asked.

"Well, since I have to come up with an excuse to why I disappeared for most of advanced lit, now you need to come up with an excuse to why you have dust all over your shorts. Fair's fair, right?" Jason remained silent. Lana hit him again and smirked as she heard him groan. Jason dropped his weight to his elbows as Lana hit him again.

"Can-can you stop now?" Jason asked. "It hurts." Lana scoffed and hit him again. 

"I need to go," she told him, dropping the eraser onto his desk. Jason nodded.


	10. John & Sam Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains parental spanking of a minor.

John felt like an idiot. He had spent thirty minutes searching their tatty motel room for the envelope of cash that he usually left on the table the following evening, but as he shuffled from his make-shift bed on the couch to the bathroom, he saw the crumpled corner sticking out of the pocket of his son's coat. John frowned. 

Once he had exited the bathroom, John headed straight for his sons' jackets, which were draped over the back of the wooden chairs beside the desk in the corner. He had supposed that maybe Dean had taken the money to buy food and had forgotten to put it back, but once he had picked up the brown coat, he realised that it was way too small for his older son. John had no idea to why Sam would have had the envelope, but he supposed maybe Dean was trying to give him some responsibility. John sighed and took the envelope out of his son's coat and scowled when he found that the envelope was empty. John scratched his head. He had been certain that he had left enough money for two weeks and, since he had finished his hunt earlier than expected, there should be money left. He first thought that perhaps Dean had bought everything in bulk, but after remembering the pitiful contents of the cupboards he had seen the previous night, he decided that that could not be the case. John scrunched up the envelope and dropped it onto the desk. He sat on the couch again and glanced at his watch. It was only five in the morning, so it was still too early to wake the boys, but John knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, so he threw on some jeans and headed out to get coffee. 

When John returned, both boys were up and sat on the couch. Dean was flicking through a comic book that looked as if it had been sat on and Sam was watching the news on the small TV screen. "Hey, boys," John said. He offered Dean a coffee in a take-away cup. Dean nodded at him, so John nodded back. "Sleep okay?" 

"I guess," Dean shrugged. 

"I don't like this bed," Sam said. "The mattress is lumpy and hard."

"Shut up," Dean hissed.

"It's alright, Dean," John said. He turned to Sam. "Don't worry, we'll be leaving tomorrow, so you won't have to put up with it for much longer." 

"Good," Sam murmured. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Dean, do you feel up to grabbing breakfast?" John asked. "I was going to recommend going to that diner down the road, but I really need a shower."

"Uh... sure," Dean muttered. "Let me grab some pants first." John rolled his eyes. 

Once Dean had changed his shirt and pulled on a pair of jeans and boots, he took his coffee, and twenty dollars from his father, and headed out to the parking lot. John watched him close the door and took his place on the couch beside Sam. "I need to talk to you," John said gravelly, turning off the TV. Sam scowled. "I found an empty envelope in your coat," John said. Sam widened his eyes. "And," John continued, "it looked suspiciously like the envelope I left money for Dean to use for food. But, it was empty. Care to explain?"

"Someone wrote me a letter," Sam shrugged.

"There was no name or address on the envelope."

"They didn't know where I lived."

"Who wrote the letter?"

"Some kid from my school. It was an invite to a party."

"So, where's the money I left you?"

"Why don't you ask Dean?" scoffed Sam. "You left him the money, right?"

"Well, there's no other envelope in this room," John said sternly. 

"Maybe Dean threw it away."

"So where's the money?"

"I _told_ you, ask Dean." 

"Why should Dean know if the envelope was in _your_ coat." 

"That's a different envelope."

"Really?"

"_Yes._" 

John sent Sam to wait on his bed while he showered. He was happy to see that he was still there when he returned to the couch and decided to keep him there until Dean arrived with their breakfast.

When his older son did arrive, John ushered him to the couch. Dean left their box of food on the table and sat beside him. "Dean, what happened to the all the money I left you? I _know_ that I left you enough for fourteen days, but there's nothing left."

"Oh... uh... I don't know," Dean muttered. 

"Did you spend it all?"

"I don't know," Dean replied. John sighed. He knew his son would avoid outright lying to him, but that didn't necessarily make things easier for him. 

"Okay, well, I found an empty envelope in Sam's coat pocket; do you know anything about that?" Dean shook his head. "Really, Dean?" 

"I don't know anything about what Sam keeps in his pockets," Dean said quickly. John groaned, deciding to try a new approach.

"Dean, did you give Sam the envelope?"

"No, sir." 

"Did Sam ask you for the envelope?"

"No, sir." 

"Did you give Sam the money?"

"No, sir."

"Did Sam ask you for the money?"

"Uh..."

"Dean?"

"Yes, sir." 

"But you didn't give it to him, right?"

"No, sir, I didn't give it to him." 

"So, did he take it?"

"He didn't take it from me." 

"So, he took it without your permission?"

"Uh..."

"Dean?"

"If he did take it, he didn't have my permission to do so." 

"Dean, you're doing your brother no favours by protecting him from the consequences of his own actions," John said sternly. 

"Yes, sir."

"So, Sam took the money without your permission."

"If Sam took the money, yes, it was without my permission."

"Did Sam take the money?"

"Uh..."

"Forget it, Dean," sighed John. "Has Sam been to any parties since we've been here."

"Not that I know of," Dean replied, scratching his head. "He went to the library with a buddy once, but we've been here for most of the week."

"Was he invited to some party that you said he couldn't go to?"

"No, sir."

"Was there any night when you thought Sam could've sneaked out to go to a party?"

"No, sir," Dean said quickly.

"Alright Dean," John sighed. "What did you get for breakfast?"

"Sammy and I have pancakes," Dean said, visibly more relaxed. "Mine's with bacon, but Sammy's isn't, and you have bacon and eggs." 

"That's great, Dean. Can you plate it up?"

"Sure." Dean shrugged and opened the cupboard in search for plates and cups. 

"Sam, come here for food," John called. He heard Sam huff, before he marched from the bedroom to the table, where Dean was pouring them a glass of orange juice in. 

"I don't like that," Sam said, frowning. Dean raised an eyebrow. "It's got pulp in it." Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's all we've got."

"But I don't like it."

"Sam, will you just shut up," John snapped. "Drink the juice and leave your brother alone."

"I wasn't aiming it at him," moped Sam. "I was just saying." 

"Well, don't say anything, just eat your pancakes."

"But, I don't want pancakes."

"Eat the damn pancakes, Sammy," Dean hissed. Sam pouted. 

Once they had finished eating, John sent Dean to fill the car up with gas. He threw the empty box into the bin and met Sam on the couch. "Sam, turn that off," John snapped. Sam groaned, but he did turn off the news that he had been watching. "I've spoke to Dean," John told him gravelly, "and he doesn't know what happened to the money, but he knows he didn't give it to you, nor did he give that envelope to you." 

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." 

"So, how did _you_ end up with it?"

"I told you."

"No, you made up some crap. Dean told me that you didn't go to any party and you didn't ask him if you could go to any party, so, it makes you look quite suspicious, doesn't it."

"Not really. I was invited, but knew I wouldn't be allowed to go, so I didn't talk to Dean about it."

"And you kept the envelope without the invitation in it?"

"Leave me alone," grumbled Sam.

"Samuel, why did you steal the money?" John growled. Sam widened his eyes. "I don't take this sort of thing lightly, you know that."

"Do I?"

"Well, you saw what happened to Dean when he stole money to buy alcohol, didn't you?"

"I didn't buy alcohol," huffed Sam.

"What did you buy?"

"I-I bought some clothes."

"Clothes? You have clothes."

"I mean, for one, I have all of Dean's old clothes, which I don't like as much as he did when he was my age and, also, my friends invited me to go shopping with them, so I bought some clothes while we were at the mall."

"So, you took the money that I left you and your brother to eat, not knowing that I'd be back early, and went to buy some shirts at the mall _after_ you'd asked Dean for the money and he'd said no."

"Yes, sir."

"Get in the corner," John growled.

"Wh-what?"

"I don't want to look at you, just get in the corner." Sam nodded and shuffled into the corner of the room.

After some time, John took off his jacket and summoned his son back. He didn't talk before bending the boy over the side of the couch and pulled down the boy's jeans. "D-Dad, I'm sorry," Sam said weakly. "P-Please don't." 

"You stole from your brother, from _me_, and lied about it, boy," muttered John. "You've earned this." Sam shook his head.

"Please, no, no, no." John shook his head and smacked his son's rear. He did this repeatedly until Sam was sobbing into the couch. John picked up Sam's belt from the discarded jeans on the floor and pulled down his boxers. John brought the belt against the boy's rear. Sam cried and sniffled as John brought the belt down again. John stared at his son and decided that he had had enough.

"Get back in the corner," he barked. Sam nodded. He pulled up his boxers and shuffled to the corner of the room again. 

John left Sam there sniffling for five minutes, before he approached him. John rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head as the boy calmed down. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered. John nodded and ruffled his hair.

"Go to bed," he said. "Take a nap."

"Yes, sir." John smiled and watched as Sam shuffled away. 


	11. Tom Holland & Harrison Osterfield 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after homecoming.

Tom clapped as they touched ground on British soil. Harrison rolled his eyes at his boyfriend and closed his water bottle. Tom pulled his gym bag from the overhead compartment and threw a burgundy rucksack at Harrison's chest. "Cheers, pal," Harrison sighed. Tom nodded. Harrison rubbed the back of his neck as he realised he had lost Tom in the sea of people exiting the plane. Harrison slung his rucksack over his shoulder and padded into the airport. 

Tom was easy to spot. He was taking selfies with a pair of teen girls outside the Starbucks in the airport, near the conveyor belt. Harrison sighed. He was not working this time, he and Tom had just traveled to America for Zendaya's birthday, but he still felt responsible for his boyfriend. Tom waved when he saw him approaching and Harrison smiled uncomfortably. The girls waved at him too and asked him to join their photo. Harrison obliged and dropped his arm around Tom's waist and ducked a little so he could fit into frame. 

*

Harrison followed Tom to the bar that evening. Harrison liked not having to show his ID for every pint he bought, as he had to in the US as he had recently turned twenty-one. Harrison took their drinks to their table and nodded at the pair of fans who were talking to Tom about his new movie. Harrison smiled. Tom was still so excited to talk about his first solo movie in his Marvel career, and Harrison couldn't blame him. Harrison drank his cider as Tom took a picture with the pair and waved goodbye to them. "Thanks," he said, taking his glass. Harrison nodded.

"Whatever," he shrugged. "You're getting the next round." Tom chuckled.

"Sure, sure." 

"So, how jet-lagged are you?"

"Incredibly," laughed Tom. 

Harrison and Tom went through a few rounds before they decided to head back to their apartment. Fortunately, they had walked over, so they didn't need to worry about finding a way to get a car home. Tom stood on the wall outside while Harrison called a taxi to pick them up. "They'll be here in fifteen minutes," he told him. Tom nodded and patted the wall beside him. Harrison rolled his eyes, but sat beside him and let Tom wrap an arm around his neck. 

Harrison flopped onto the sofa when they returned to their flat. Tom dropped himself on top of him and pinned Harrison's wrists to the cushions. "Lemme up," he moaned. Tom shook his head and pressed his lips to Harrison's mouth. Harrison slipped his tongue into Tom's mouth and ran a hand through his dark hair. Tom moaned. Harrison spun them around until he was on top of his boyfriend and smirked. Tom ran a hand up Harrison's shirt, smirking as he shivered. Harrison clambered off of his boyfriend and smiled. Tom rolled his eyes. Harrison slowly lifted his shirt, revealing a few inches of skin, while Tom watched him. Harrison pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes. Tom sat up and smirked as he watched Harrison fight with his socks. Tom kept his eyes on him as Harrison sat on his lap. Harrison rubbed his growing bulge. Tom watched Harrison rub his own crotch, before he gripped Tom's erection through his jeans. "Help me out of these," Tom said. Harrison shrugged. He jumped back off his boyfriend and helped him take off his shoes. He knelt on his knees to unbutton his jeans and pulled them down violently. Harrison kissed his thigh and stood up. He slowly started pulling his own jeans down, aware Tom was watching him intently. Harrison played with the waistband of his boxers. Harrison yawned.

"I'm going to bed," he said. Tom frowned. Harrison picked his shirt up from the floor and strode past the sofa, towards his bedroom. Tom sighed. He stood up, adjusted his own bulge, and followed his boyfriend.

Harrison was selecting a shirt to wear to bed from the few shirts in his wardrobe he hadn't taken to America with him when Tom wandered in. "What was that?" he asked. 

"Huh?"

"What the hell was that?"

"What do you mean, Tommy?"

"No, no, no, I'm not kidding around. What the hell just happened?"

"It was a strip tease, Tommy, I wasn't actually trying to fuck you; I'm too tired."

"Well, that's not a good enough excuse, naughty boy. I don't accept teasing." 

"Sorry, sir," Harrison said sweetly. "I'm just too tired."

"No, you're not. I can tell you're not, but you're going to be," Tom whispered. Harrison flushed. "Bend over the bed, naughty boy." Harrison nodded and dutifully bent over the foot of the bed, so his ass was in the air. Tom ruffled through one of his draws and pulled out a black belt. "I'm going to give you a little warm-up with my hand, and then you'll get ten, okay?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Good boy." Tom kissed Harrison's neck, before he pulled down his boxers and began smacking the lightly-tanned skin. He kissed one of his boyfriend's shoulders. He continued to smack him until his ass was nice and pink. "Ready?"  
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
"Good boy." Tom folded the belt in half and smacked it against Harrison's rear.

"One, sir." Tom brought it down again. "Two, sir." Tom smacked it again, watching the line appear against his boyfriend's skin. Tom brought the belt down twice quickly. "Three, sir. Four, sir." 

"Good boy," Tom praised, rubbing his back. He brought the belt down again thrice in quick succession. 

"Five, sir. S-Six, sir. Seven, s-sir," Harrison whined. Tom brought the belt to Harrison's thighs quickly. "Eight, s-sir. N-Nine, s-s-sir."

"Ready?"

"Yes, sir." Tom smiled and brought the belt down one final time, before dropping it to the ground.

"Ten, sir," Harrison sobbed. Tom helped him lay on the bed properly and spooned him. 

"No more teasing, Haz," Tom said. Harrison nodded wordlessly as Tom pulled the blanket over them. 


	12. Bobby Singer & Sam Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.

Bobby scratched his head. Dean was running down the road as instructed, but he could not find where Sam went. The eleven year old was supposed to be running drills with his brother, but he had made it apparent that he wasn't interested. Bobby had known that Sam didn't care to follow the training regime his father had written for them, but he'd never run away before. "SAMMY?" Bobby called, wandering towards his truck. There was no sign of the boy. "SAM! WHERE ARE YOU?" Of course, there was no response, but Bobby hadn't honestly expected him to. He glanced over at Dean, who was still running, before he headed back inside.

Bobby explored through the scrap yard for some time, before he located the small boy hidden behind a blue, rusty truck with no wheels. He was still in his pyjamas and covering his face with his arms. "Sam?" Bobby questioned kindly. "Are you okay?"

"Go away," was Sam's muffled response.

"Sam, you know I can see you, right?"

"Go away," he repeated. 

"Sam, why don't you want to train with your brother? It doesn't take too long and it will help you in the long run." 

"Go away."

"Sam, your daddy thinks it's important that you complete this training and your brother agrees, so, come on." 

"Leave me alone."

"Sam, get off the floor." Sam huffed and scrambled to his feet. He tried to hide behind a car, but Bobby gruffly gripped his arm and tugged him towards the house.

"Let me go, Bobby," Sam groaned. Bobby did not. 

Bobby took Sam to the library and closed the door. He released Sam's arm and sat on the armchair. "Do you think you're helping your cause by acting like a child? If you want to convince your daddy that you don't need to train with Dean, hiding like a petulant toddler won't help."

"It's none of your business." 

"Sam, I'm going to give you one chance to explain to me what's going on, or I'm going to skip straight to punishment."

"Leave me alone, Bobby." Bobby rolled his eyes and tugged the young boy into his grasp. He pulled the boy over his lap and wasted no time in administering smacks to the seat of his pants. Sam groaned and kicked his legs, but Bobby didn't let up.   
  
"Are you going to listen, now?" Bobby asked.

"Y-Yuh- Yes," whined Sam. 

"Good." Bobby left Sam alone so the boy could clamber off his lap. "You understand why being immature about this won't help you convince your daddy that you don't need training, right?"  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"Really, Sam?"

"Look, Bobby, I'm not trying to stop training because I think I'm a better hunter than Dad or Dean or-or _you_, I just don't want to hunt, so why do I need to be able to be a good hunter."

"You still need the basics, just due to the fact that your family is so involved you may be a likely target."

"I know, but Dean taught me the basics when I was like, seven. I just want to be a normal kid."

"Believe me, boy, there's nothing more that I want for you and your brother, but, unfortunately, I think that ship has sailed. Have you told your daddy that?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't care about what I want as long as I act like a soldier and not an actual kid."

"I'm sure that's not true, your daddy loves you. Now, come on, Dean'll be done soon, so let's get cooking porridge."


	13. Molly & Fred & George Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Set early Prisoner of Azkaban

Molly was frantic. They had less than an hour before their cars were due to arrive and yet none of her sons were ready to leave the hotel. Hermione and Ginny had been ready for some time, their room nicely made up and pets sleeping in their cages, but the boys were scrambling around, looking for socks and books and rat medicine. Her husband, of course, was no help. He was studying some of Hermione's muggle money that she didn't care about enough to pack. 

"Percy, what's going on?" Molly asked as she marched upstairs to see her son pacing the landing. Percy scowled and turned to her.

"Fred and George have cursed my Head Boy badge," he snapped, "and they won't give me the counter-curse."

"Can I see it?" Molly questioned. Percy huffed and pulled the little badge out of the pocket of his robes. He handed it to her with a puff. Molly studied the badge, which no longer proclaimed her son as 'Head Boy' but as '_Big Head Boy_ ' which, of course, she knew had to have been the work of her twins. 

"I've tried every counter-curse I can think of," Percy exasperated, "but nothing seems to work. It must be one of those new things they invented."

"Of course it is," groaned Molly. "Look, dear, pack the rest of your things and I'll sort them out."

"Alright," Percy sighed. He strode back into his room, while Molly progressed down the corridor, towards the twins' room. She banged her fist on the door and heard them mutter to one another, before there was a bang and Fred opened the door. 

"Boys, what did you do to Percy's badge."

"Nothing, mum," Fred told her. Molly pursed her lips. 

"Really?"

"Yeah, right, Georgie?"

"Oh, yeah, we didn't do anything."

"So, what's this?" Molly asked, thrusting the badge at Fred. Fred snorted. Molly scowled.

"Come on, that's funny," he said. 

"Percy doesn't think so."

"I'm convinced Percy had his sense of humour removed years ago," laughed George. Molly raised an eyebrow at him. She ushered Fred further into the room and shut the door behind them. 

"Do you know how stressed your brother has been because of this?" she snapped. "He's been given a position of responsibility and already you two are already trying to ruin it for him before he even gets there."

"It's not that important, mum."

"You know it is to him."

"So?" scoffed George. 

"Reverse the spell."

"Oh, come on, mum," Fred groaned. "It's funny." 

"_Now_."

"Mum, come on-" Molly shook his head and raised an eyebrow at them. 

"I'm going to give you one more chance to reverse it, or there will be serious consequences." 

"I'm sure he'll be able to figure it out by himself soon enough," shrugged Fred. Molly shook her head again and waved her wand. Immediately, the boys were lifted over the side of one of their beds. She waved her wand again and two wooden spoons appeared. The twins winced as the spoons hit their rear ends. 

It didn't take long for Fred and George to be sniffling. "We're sorry, okay," groaned Fred. "Stop, please, stop." Molly waved her wand again and instantly they slumped against the bed. "Sorry." 

"Go apologise to your brother," Molly sighed, "and fix the badge."

"Yes, mum," muttered George.


	14. Lana Lang & Jason Teague 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set late season 4

Lana paced up and down the length of the room, shaking her head. She heard a knock on the door and huffed. She took a moment to decide whether to answer it or whether to pretend she wasn't there, but, eventually, she decided to stride through her room and pull open the door.

As she had expected, her boyfriend was on the other side, smiling weakly at her. "Lana, I-" he began

"Honestly, Jason, I don't want to hear it," Lana puffed. Jason bowed his head. Lana shuffled out of the way so Jason could enter the room. Lana turned to walk back towards the kitchen as Jason closed the door behind her. 

"Lana, listen, _please_," Jason begged.

"Why, Jason? I don't even know which lie we're discussing anymore, there's been to many."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"I mean, I thought that this was what you wanted to avoid, considering your parents and all that."

"I know, it _is_," Jason insisted, "but things happened and-"

"And nothing, Jason, I'm tired of this."

"I know, I know."

"Do you what you're even talking about right now?" 

"I know I hurt you," Jason sighed. "I'll literally do anything to prove to you that I regret it and that it'll _never_ happen again." 

"Look, I know you," Lana sighed, turning around, "and I know that you never wanted things to be this confusing, but I don't know what we can do right now. I just need time."

"Please. I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes, literally anything."

"No matter how humiliating or painful?"

"I'll do anything if it will prove to you that I'm done keeping secrets and I'm going to prioritise our relationship over my pride." 

"That's a big ask," Lana said. Jason widened his eyes at her pleadingly. "Take off your jeans." Jason raised an eyebrow. Lana stared at him and strode into her room. 

When Lana returned, Jason was unbuckling his belt, supposedly deciding that she wasn't joking. He kicked off his boots and let his jeans drop to his ankles. He smiled softly at Lana, ignoring the colour rising in his cheeks. Jason held his arms out, as if indicating to himself, as Lana approached. "Get in the bedroom," she told him. Jason kicked off his jeans completely and walked down towards her bedroom. He stood awkwardly beside the door as Lana followed him. She shut the door behind her and stared at her boyfriend; his eyes were on his sock-clad feet and he looked incredibly uncomfortable. Lana licked her lips slowly. "Bend over the dresser," Lana barked. Jason widened his eyes, clearly working out what was about to happen. 

"Seriously?" he asked. 

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Come on, beautiful, let me have a little dignity." 

"I thought this relationship meant more to you than your pride?" Jason stared blankly at her. "You agreed to anything no matter how much it humiliated or pained you." 

"Yeah, I know." 

"So?" Lana asked, raising an eyebrow. Jason groaned. Lana rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. 

Jason eventually complied. He winced as Lana leant over him. She wasted no time in bringing the back of her wooden hairbrush onto the seat of his underwear. Jason ground his teeth together as she smacked him again. Lana rubbed his back, before applying the third strike. "Gah," Jason groaned as it hit his ass. Lana shook her head and applied two strikes quickly. Jason groaned again and shook his head. "Can-can you let up now?" he asked weakly. Lana rolled his eyes. 

"I don't think so, sweetie," Lana said, grimacing. Jason shuddered in anticipation, before Lana administered another strike. Jason bit down on his lip harshly to prevent himself from shouting. Jason let his shoulders slump as Lana struck him again. 

"I-I'm sorry," Jason grunted. Lana rubbed his back softly. "Can-can we be done now?"

"I don't think so," Lana sighed, "I don't think you're going to remember this in a week, when you're tempted to try and convince me of something."

"D-Don't worry about that, I-I-I w-will," stammered Jason. Lana hummed and pulled down his shorts. She gaped when she realised how red his skin already was, the flesh looking angry and sore against the relaxed tan of his lower back, and shook her head. She brought the brush down quickly twice on his bare skin. Jason gasped. 

Lana could only give him another three strokes before she gave up. She threw her brush onto her bed and rubbed his back soothingly. Jason had his eyes closed and he was shaking slightly. "Hey," she muttered, leaning over him. Jason let out a pained chuckle. He let Lana drag him to the bed and the fell down together. Lana helped him adjust his shorts as she kissed his neck. "Love you," she whispered. 

"Love you too," he replied, smiling against her hair. 


	15. Dean & Sam Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series

Dean only had three weeks of High School left and he was wondering why his father was making him go at all. Nothing he did anymore would effect whether he got his diploma or not and he'd already told the school he didn't want to walk at graduation, but John had been adamant that while there was no job for them to do and they were lying low at Bobby's house, Dean had to go to school just as much as Sam did.

"I don't know why you hate it so much," Sam said as they shuffled out of Bobby's front door. Neither of the men were awake yet and Dean already missed the comfort of his bed. He groaned. "It'll be good for you to learn something that you can't use to kill someone."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean groaned. He needed a nap or a cup of coffee immediately. "I'm not a fucking serial killer, am I?"

"Dad said no cussing while we're here."

"He also said you can't let anyone come to over to Bobby's cos of all the ammunition, and yet I swear I saw a little blond boy in the kitchen yesterday."

"We needed to do a project, okay?" Sam flared. Dean chuckled and sauntered into the car.

Dean was overjoyed when he returned home that afternoon to find his father planning to head to Utah. "You know," Sam told him as Dean began packing, "Bobby might get offended that you're so eager to leave." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Bobby doesn't like being cooped up any more than me or Dad," he replied. "He just goes out hunting animals in the meantime; I'm not into that."

"Good; I_ like_ squirrels." 

"Who doesn't? Now, pack your shit."

"Stop being a dick," Sam groaned. Dean chuckled and threw a pillow at him.

"Oi, Dad said no cussing, remember?"

"Shut up." 

Dean helped his dad pack the car at five o'clock the following morning. He didn't mind as he was used to getting up early and it beat just laying in bed, listening to Sam snore. He heaved their duffel bags into the trunk, while John checked the air in the tyres and inspected all the ammo. "Alright," he said, clapping his hands as Dean shut the trunk, "let's go get ourselves some breakfast and wake your brother." Dean nodded.

Bobby had already headed out to get chop up some wood for timber, so it was up to Dean to cook the eggs, while John roused Sam. Dean listened out for the sound of his brother's soft footsteps, but there was no sound of it. Dean plated up the eggs and bacon he had been cooking onto three plates and took one with him to Bobby's old couch. He could hear raised voices upstairs and groaned. He had expected there to be arguing, but he didn't realise it would come so soon into the day.

When Sam eventually did come downstairs, he was huddled under his duvet and still in his pyjamas. "You know we need to go soon, right?" Dean asked him, before he sipped his orange juice. Sam shrugged and sat beside him. 

"Here you go," John said, bringing in the other two plates Dean had prepared, "let's get some grub into you." 

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"Sam's feeling a little under the weather," John replied, "I'm sure after some food and maybe some coffee he'll be fine."

"Sam doesn't drink coffee, dad," Dean chuckled. John shrugged.

Sam's condition did not seem to improve as John and Dean finished eating and made up the boys' room and the living room where John had been kipping on the couch. Sam was shaking on his seat now that the duvet had been returned. John shook his head. "What's wrong now?" Dean asked, following him into the kitchen. They were already three hours behind schedule and Dean was growing restless again. 

"I can't take him like that, Dean, look at him," John groaned. "He'll be complaining for the entire journey and if he's ill, we'll be too distracted by him to do the hunt properly."

"So, what's the plan?" Dean asked. "Is he staying here with Bobby?"

"Dean, come on, I can't expect Bobby to do that."

"Well, you can't just not go on the hunt." 

"I know, I will have to go on the hunt, Dean," John sighed. "Look, I don't want to do this, Dean, but people's lives are at stake and it's not fair to make Bobby play babysitter. Besides, Bobby has more experience with chupacabras than you have anyway."

"Really? You're leaving me to deal with Sam?" Dean hissed. John rolled his eyes.

"I know it's far from ideal, Dean, but it's the only realistic scenario I can go with."

Dean was less than pleased to be saying goodbye to John and Bobby that afternoon when Bobby returned from his log cutting. Sam was already tucked up in bed, under strict orders not to leave for the rest of the day, so Dean sulked on the couch. 

*

On Monday, Dean padded to school alone, leaving Sam in bed with a hot water bottle and a flask of soup. He didn't pay any attention to the the math or history or geography he was supposed to be doing, but just wondered what John and Bobby were doing without him. 

Dean couldn't be bothered to sit through last period English, so, after the bell chimed for lunch, he clambered over the back gate and headed back towards Bobby's house.

Dean was starving when he returned, so he plodded straight to the kitchen. However, he did not find the barren cupboards and few bottles of beer and tins in the fridge as he was expecting, but he found Sam sat at the counter, still in his pyjamas, eating a sandwich and listening to the radio. "Oh, so you're feeling better are you?" Dean scoffed, narrowing his eyes. Sam widened his eyes and dropped his plate, causing it to smash on the floor and his sandwich to fall apart. "That was a quick recovery."

"Please don't tell Dad," Sam begged quickly. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure if I tell Dad he won't be mad at you for getting better." 

"What if- what if I told you I haven't gotten better?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if- what if I wasn't ill in the first place?"

"WHAT?"

"I-I wanted Dad to think I was sick so I wouldn't have to go on the hunt," Sam murmured. "I-I didn't expect him to make you stay with me, really, I'm sorry." Dean shook his head. He clenched his hands into fists and shook his head. "I'm sorry," Sam repeated as Dean closed the space between them.

Dean became very angry very quickly, so Sam ducked under his arm to rush upstairs. Dean stared dumbstruck at the fridge, before he bounded after his brother. Sam rushed into their room and sat in front of the door, preventing Dean from barging in after him. "I'm sorry!" Sam called as Dean kicked the door. 

"What's wrong with you?" Dean cried. "You weird little shit!"

"I-I just didn't want to move schools again so soon and I thought Dad wouldn't mind so much if I wanted to stay with Bobby and not a motel, but he was just as annoyed, saying I'd waste Bobby's time," Sam rambled, "so, I thought that if I made him think I was too sick to go on a hunt, like that one time you had tonsillitis, he wouldn't make me go."

"You vile, manipulative, deceptive little shit," Dean snarled. "We should be helping Dad right now! You made him six hours late! More people could have died in that time."

"I know, I-I'm sorry, Dean, I am."

"I don't believe you. You're just trying to manipulate me some more." Dean was shaking with fury. 

"I never meant to lie to you too, Dean, I thought he'd just tell you to get in the car, I never expected this."

"You don't lie to family, Sam," Dean snapped. "We may pull some shit in our lives on hunts, but family is supposed to be loyal and trustworthy." 

"I'm sorry." 

"What would you have done if I didn't come home early? Would you continue to make me worry for your health like you did all weekend?"

"I'm sorry."

"I- I don't even know what to say," Dean huffed, kicking the door again. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I should ring Dad now."

"No! Please don't! He'd- he'd only drive back and then-then the chupacabra might hurt more people."

"As if you care about that! You only care that he'd come back and take you to the woodshed, which is what you deserve." 

"Please, Dean, _please_," Sam whined.

"I should call him right fucking now and tell him what a deceitful little bastard you are." 

"Dean can-can you calm down first, and _then_ call dad?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying if-if you call him while you're so angry, he might get mad at you for cursing at him."

"Right, cos that's what you're scared of," Dean scoffed. "But, fine, I more or less ran here, so I need a shower anyway." Sam exhaled shakily as he heard Dean pad downstairs. 

Dean felt his shoulders lose tension as he stood under the cold spray of the water. He ran his hands through his hair and yawned. He wondered whether Sam was still upstairs, or whether he had tried to make a run for it. 

Once Dean had dried off and re-clothed himself, he headed straight upstairs. The door to their bedroom was open and, after a quick inspection, he found that Sam was not there. Dean rolled his eyes and bounded downstairs. He strode into the living room, intending to get his jacket and go hunting for his brother through the scrap yard, but he found that Sam was sat there, sipping orange juice. "I made you coffee," Sam murmured.

"What?"

"I-I made you some coffee while you were showering," Sam told him. "It's in the kitchen." 

"And I suppose you're trying to bribe me?" Dean scoffed, but he padded into the kitchen to get the coffee anyway. 

"No-no," Sam muttered. "Uh... so... are you still planning on ringing dad?"

"Why? You want to get out of your punishment?"

"N-No," Sam muttered as Dean re-entered the room. "I-I was just curious." 

"Here's the thing, Sam," Dean sighed, sipping his coffee, "if I tell Dad that you were faking it, I'd have to admit that a tween pulled the wool over my eyes all weekend, and that's not a good look."

"Oh. So, what're you going to do?" 

"I'll have to think about it."

After his coffee, Dean decided to that he had to get things over with, so he tugged Sam back upstairs to their room. He had been tempted to drag him outside, but he felt that that might be too harsh. Sam made no complaint when Dean pulled down his pyjama bottoms and pulled him over his lap. Dean knew that if John was there, there would be no way that he wouldn't do it bare, Dean couldn't bring himself to force Sam to shake off his boxers, so he just pulled a belt out of the duffel under his bed and began peppering Sam's backside with it. "Ouch, ouch," Sam whined.

"Calm down," Dean told him. "We're only getting started."

"Ow! Dean! Dean, I'm sorry!" 

"Settle down." 

"Dean! DEAN! I'M SORRY!" Sam moaned. Dean shook his head and continued to bring his belt down on his brother. "Please! Please, Dean, please!"

"I know you don't act like this with dad, Sammy, so knock it off."

"You hit harder than he does."

"That's a lie," Dean scoffed.

"No." 

"Right," Dean chuckled. He brought the belt down again and watched Sam shuffled uncomfortable. 

"SORRY!"

"Alright, alright, I get it," Dean sighed, dropping the belt, "you've had enough. Now, go heat up some of those tinned potato things Bobby keeps in the fridge." Sam nodded and left the room. 


	16. Oliver Queen & William Clayton 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.

William did not have many friends in that damn school that his father had forced him into. While he wasn't popular back in Central City, he certainly did have more friends. Since between living in Central City and moving in with his father he had been forced into witness protection and had to take a new name, he had been unable to keep in contact with them. This meant that, for William, it was a shock to be invited to anything.

Of course, life couldn't be so easy as for William to be invited to something and then to just go as his father did not want him to be out late at night. William considered it to be social suicide to not turn up to the one party he had been invited to that academic year, so he had to find a way to get out. 

It was Raisa's job to ensure William's safety while Oliver and Felicity went off to do whatever they had planned that night. That made things easier for William, as Raisa was much more trusting than his father was. William headed to his room at nine and made a point of making himself a mug of hot chocolate in his flash pyjamas at half past, indicating to her that he was ready for bed. However, after gulping down the still hot beverage, he changed into a blue button up and a pair of jeans, which he deemed acceptable party-wear. Then, all he had to do was wait until Raisa went to the bathroom to slip into the elevator and leave the apartment. 

William enjoyed his party-going experience. He sat in the kid's living room talking to a girl from his English class. She seemed interested in their conversation about baseball, although he had to note that she had had two refills of whatever was in her red cup. "I'm going out to the keg," she announced once William had finished speaking, "do you want a beer?"

"Uh... sure," William muttered. He'd never had beer before and wasn't sure if having it the first time in front of his new-not-quite friends was a good idea, but he didn't really want to say no, either.

When the girl returned, William mirrored her and drank his beer as quickly as he could. It burnt his throat and tasted awful, but he wasn't going to say that. Instead, he listened to the girl tell him all about how tiresome her AP geography class was and how she was considering flunking a test just so she didn't have to deal with the strenuous amounts of homework anymore. 

William was one of the first out of the door once the music was switched off and the lights turned back on. He followed Joshie, a thin boy from his math class, down the road and made a left along an alley he was pretty sure he took on his way out. He slipped over a pile of leaves, causing him to fall to the ground, and groaned. He rubbed his head and pulled pieces of gravel out of his palms, aware he had ripped his jeans, before he forced himself to his feet and continued making his way home. 

Much to William's dismay, Oliver was sat on his bed when he got home. William rolled his eyes and put on a forced smile as he entered the room. "What the hell, William?" Oliver hissed, deliberately quiet so not to wake Raisa or Felicity. "Where've you been?"

"The-the bathroom," William lied.

"For forty minutes?" scoffed Oliver. William let out a breath or relief; if Oliver thought he had been gone for less than an hour, he might be able to salvage the situation after all. 

"I-I have a bowel problem," William murmured. "Have had it all week."

"Do I need to take you to a doctor?"

"I don't need to bother anyone," William replied. "It-it's probably the meat they put in the food here."

"Yeah?" Oliver sounded amused by William's tale, clearly not buying it, but at least he didn't seem mad. 

"Yeah." William bit his lip as Oliver switched on the lamp.

"What happened to you?" Oliver asked quickly. William shrugged. "Will did-did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"You did, didn't you?" Oliver huffed, sounding angry now. "You sneaked out to get into a fight."

"No, no, no, that's not it."

"What happened then?"

"I fell."

"You _fell_?"

"I was running and the ground was slippery and I fell." 

"Why was it slippery?"

"I don't know, it was some weird alleyway, maybe someone split beer, maybe someone pissed there, I don't know."

"Why were you in a 'weird alleyway' at nearly two in the morning?" 

"So-so I could get home."

"William, what's going on?"

"I-I -"

"You went to that party, didn't you?" Oliver hissed.

"P-Party?"

"The one at that girl's house."

"Oh... _that_ party... um..."

"William," Oliver said, his voice dangerously low. William bit his lip. "Here, now," Oliver barked. William shut the door and stood closer to the bed. Oliver wasted no time in pulling down the boy's jeans and dragging him over his lap. 

William gave up fighting soon enough. He was tired and his knee was sore and honestly, he was just mad he wasn't getting yelled at. It didn't take Oliver long to realise that the boy had had enough. He pulled his jeans completely off and handed him the discarded pyjamas. "Wash your face before you head to bed," Oliver said kindly. "I'll take a look at your leg tomorrow for you." William nodded and slid into bed. 


	17. Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains corporal punishment of a teenager.  
Pre-series.

Dean Winchester was not an unintelligent boy, no, quite the contrary. The seventeen year old had more wits about him than Bobby had known in grown men, so why the boy presumed he could get away with bunking off school and not picking his brother up was beyond him.

Sam and Dean had been staying with Bobby for most of the summer while John was working a hunt with other hunters who weren't too pleased with the kids sticking around. Bobby didn't mind; he liked giving the boys a sense of familiarity and they were good company. However, he had to admit, they could be a handful; Sam would often complain about their lifestyle and Dean would try to steal his weapons to practice hunting. 

This, however, was unusual for Dean to do. Dean was usually responsible and he looked out for his brother, but clearly that was not the case today. Sam had called him from a payphone shortly after four o'clock whining that Dean was yet to turn up. That meant that the boy had been alone for over an hour, which just wouldn't do. Bobby hadn't even noticed how late it was as he had only just returned from cleaning up one of the vehicles in the back. "Alright, Sammy," he said gruffly. Sam clucked his tongue impatiently. "I'll come over with Rumsfeld now."

"Okay," Sam muttered. "But, hurry, the janitor is annoyed that I'm loitering."

"Alright, alright," Bobby muttered, before he hung up the phone. 

Bobby made sure that Sam was alright before he let him clamber into the truck. He rubbed the back of his neck and began to driveway. "Where's Dean?" Sam asked. "If he was in detention, he'd be here by now, right?" 

"Probably." 

"Where is he?"

"I don't really know," Bobby muttered, patting the dog's head. "The high school called and told me that he and at least two other boys didn't go to class today." 

"Oh."

*

Sam was tucked up in bed after eating he'd eaten his portion of stew when there was a loud knock on the door. Bobby groaned as he got off his chair. He knew that it wouldn't be Dean, as on the few occasions that Dean knocked, it was distinctive. He pulled on his cap and shifted towards the door. 

On the other side of it was a police officer. Bobby raised an eyebrow at her. "Hello, I'm looking for Bobby Singer, is he in?"

"He is me," Bobby said. "What do ya want?"

"You're the current guardian of Dean Smith, yes?" 

"Uh... I guess," Bobby replied, trying to recall whether John had told the boys to use an alias or not. "Why? Is he okay?"

"We've got him down at the station," the woman told him. "He's-he's a little shaken."

"What did he do?"

"Can you come down to the station?"

"Sure."

Bobby rushed upstairs to the boys' room, where he found Sam on one of the low twin beds, the thin comforter held to his chest, a book in his right hand. He quickly told him that he needed to go out, before he slumped onto his truck and followed the police car to the station.

Dean was in handcuffs when Bobby arrived. He was sat on a bench beside a boy with dark, black hair. A third boy was stood in the corner, his eyes on his watch. This boy wasn’t in handcuffs, which confused Bobby. Without a word, Bobby nodded gruffly at Dean, before he followed the officer to the counter. "So, uh... what is it that he's done?" Bobby asked, scratching his chin.

"We pulled the car over because they were speeding," the officer behind the desk told him. "There was a bit of a chase and reluctance to get out of the car. None of them had a license on them. Then, once we'd pulled them out of the vehicle, we confiscated marijuana and alcohol. We managed to get one of them to admit to us that they were supposed to be in high school, so we tried to take them in. Two of them resisted arrest and once they'd been brought here, continued to fight with the officers."

"Right." 

"Look, all things considered, this seems like a one-off," the officer huffed. "There's lots of kids round here who get into stuff like this, just make sure your nephew isn't involved again." Bobby nodded and signed the form that was being thrust in his direction, before approaching Dean. 

Neither of them said a word for the entire journey back to Bobby's. There were a few times where Bobby thought Dean looked as if he was about to speak, but he never did. Once they finally returned home, Bobby kept a hand on the small of Dean's back as he led him inside, which Dean was clearly not fond off. "Look-" Dean started once they got to the living room. Bobby shook his head and held up his hand.

"I don't want to hear it now, boy." 

"No, Bobby, listen-"

"Just go up to bed, Dean," Bobby sighed. Dean looked at him and nodded. The man felt him lightly tap his arm affectionately before the boy headed up to bed. Bobby chuckled to himself and shuffled into the kitchen. 

*

Sam was up and dressed by the time that Dean slumped downstairs, still in his underwear, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Bobby couldn't help but chuckle at him. Bobby noticed the way Sam stared at his brother curiously and assumed that the pair had already had a not too thorough conversation. Bobby drank his own coffee before he plated some bacon onto a plate for the older Winchester brother. "Hurry up, Dean," Sam urged, "or we're going to be late."

"Dean's not going to school today," Bobby announced. Both brothers stared at him.

"Is he suspended?" Sam asked.

"No, no, no, I just need him to do some stuff for me."

"So, are you driving me?"

"I suppose so." 

Dean was in the shower when Bobby returned to his house. This was ideal because it gave him a chance to go over in his head what he wanted to say to the boy. He made himself another cup of coffee as he heard the shower switch off and exhaled softly. "These boy'll be the death of me," he muttered to himself. He took off his cap and sat at the small table in his kitchen. 

"Heya, Bobby," Dean said nervously when he came downstairs. He was still smirking, but it wasn't the cocky, know-how smirk that he usually bore, but one that was clearly designed to hide his nerves. 

"Do I need to begin to describe to you the worry that you caused us yesterday?" Bobby asked slowly. 

"What?"

"Sam was left outside his school for over an hour, Dean! Anything coulda happened to the kid, he's littler than you is! Not to mention that I had no idea where you'd gone off to and I didn't know how to reach you!"

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean muttered gruffly. He couldn't meet the man's eyes, but Bobby could tell he was sincere. 

"Didn't your daddy have this conversation with you before you got to my front porch? Didn't he tell you how this drinking habit of yours will lead you down a nasty road soon if you aren't careful."

"I wasn't drinking, Bobby," Dean replied.

"Oh, right, so you've switched drinking on a Saturday night to getting high on a Thursday afternoon, which is so much better."

"I didn't smoke that much," Dean muttered. "I wasn't even high, not really."

"Why didn't you go to school?"

"I did," Dean retorted indignantly. "I went to homeroom and to English lit and I had a test in chemistry."

"So, when did you leave."

"Scottie got my attention after chem and showed me all the shi- _stuff _that he'd stolen from his brother."

"So you decided to sneak off and smoke it?"

"No, no, we planned to hide behind the gym and smoke it and go to gym, but we got caught by one of the janitors," Dean replied regrettably. "Taylon started freaking out that his mother was going to castrate him if the school called her about drugs after his sister got involved with a druggie last year, so decided to make a run for it."

"How would that help?"

"The janitor didn't see our faces, he just chased us to the bathroom. We jumped out of the window and made dash for it." 

"Where were you planning on going?"

"First we went to Scottie's house, but his brother was there, so we took his car to the diner," Dean shrugged. "Shit, I need to go back and pick up baby; I hope she's alright." 

"I'm sure the car's fine, Dean," Bobby sniffed. 

"Taylon's a pretty shit driver," Dean murmured. "I don't even think he has his license, but he didn't smoke the second joint, so we thought it'd be better for him to drive than Scottie or me."

"You smoked at the diner, I guess, boy?"

"Yeah, round the back." 

"What was the booze for?"

"I didn't even know it was in the trunk," Dean replied. 

"Was there a plan at all?"

"We were just going to drive around until as close to three as possible and get back so I could meet Sammy and Scottie could meet his sister, but Taylon took a wrong turn and we ended up somewhere that we didn't recognise." 

"You're a fool, boy!" Bobby cried. "Anything coulda happened to ya! What would I have done then? Or your brother? Or your daddy?" 

"Sorry." 

"Damn right you'd better be." 

"I am, Bobby, I'm sorry."

"Good, well, you can prove it by getting your ass in the library and handing me your belt."

"Bobby, no, come on, man, I'm not a little kid."

"Dean, this isn't negotiable." 

Dean took no pleasure in shuffling into Bobby's library and pulling his belt out from his jeans. He handed the leather to the man quickly and bent over the cool wood of the desk. "Drop 'em," Bobby barked. Dean looked up at him pleadingly. "When I say drop trou, boy, I mean drop trou." Dean nodded and unfastened his jeans, before returning to his position. 

It took Dean less than five whacks to feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He bit his lip as Bobby continued his assault on his ass, his hand rubbing his back as he did so. Dean let out a wretched sob on the tenth hit, willing for it to be over, but Bobby did not relent. "Half way," Bobby announced after the fifteenth. Dean inwardly groaned. John never had a fixed number for him; he'd just whack until he felt that Dean had had enough, but Bobby was different. 

Dean's cheeks were pink and his eyes were blotchy when Bobby finally dropped the belt onto the floor. He pulled the young man into a hug and slapped his back. Dean dropped his head to rest on Bobby's shoulder and felt himself yawn against the man's neck. "What were you thinking, boy?" Bobby asked softly, shaking his head. Dean let out a soft chuckle. Bobby continued to rub his back and smiled as the boy composed himself and tightened his grip on Bobby's shoulders. "You can go and lay down, boy," he told him. "I'll put some stew on for lunch, but then I expect some help in moving around some tyres; if you're useful enough I'll drive you to collect your baby." Dean smiled at him and readjusted his jeans, not bothering to pick up his belt, before he left the room. 

*

Dean's belt was on the kitchen counter when he came down for lunch. Dean chuckled and thread it back onto his jeans before Sam could ask any questions, and then sat awkwardly on the wooden chairs. "Do you want to eat in the den?" Bobby offered. "The TV's in there." Dean grinned.

"Hey, uh... Bobby are-are you going to tell dad?"

"Do you think your daddy needs to know?"

"I feel like that's up to you," Dean replied. Bobby smiled.

"Nah, boy, there's no point in worrying him." He watched Dean let out a sigh of relief and follow him into the other room. 


	18. Fleamont & James Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor

James Potter was a thirteen year old boy with untidy black hair and glasses. To most people, he was the average cocky young man you'd expect growing up in an affluent household, but to Fleamont and Euphemia he was a smart, bubbly boy and a well-mannered, well-behaved son. Of course James had his moments; they'd received numerous letters from school informing them of his detentions, but over the holidays he was entertaining and seemed to have no issue with abiding by his parents' rules, not that there were many to begin with. 

One, however, was that if he were to go out, he must always be back before dark. Winter in England was never a cheery time and Euphemia feared that something would happen to him if he wandered too far. On the night before Christmas Eve, James was toeing the line; he had arrived just after eight o'clock, which was beyond dark enough in Mrs. Potter's books. Mr Potter scolded him and warned him that if he continued this, he wouldn't be allowed to head out to meet Remus at all, and James agreed. 

However, what Mr Potter wasn't expecting that night was to find James' bed empty. There had been several owls to his room that night, but that wasn't uncommon; every year since he started school he'd had many letters from friends while he was on holiday and they had had no issue with this, but Mrs. Potter did note the strange amount that were being delivered that night after he had been with his friend for most of the day. Nevertheless, Mr Potter chose not to mention it to his son, thankful that he was now making friends and hoping that if it was an issue, James would have mentioned it to him. As it was cold in Potter Manor that night and James, much like his mother, did not enjoy the cold, so Mr Potter was headed upstairs with a mug of hot chocolate for his son. Unfortunately for him, he did not see James' bright smile on his bed, but found the room to be empty. 

Deciding not to panic and worry his wife, Mr Potter perused the entire floor. He knocked on every bedroom, bathroom and sitting room he could find, before he came to the conclusion that James had, in fact, gone. He shook his head and marched back downstairs to the library, where his wife was sat, magically knitting a throw blanket for her cousin. "Hello, dear," he said, entering the room. Mrs. Potter smiled at him. "James hasn't come in here, has he?"

"No, why?" Mrs. Potter asked sharply. "What did he do?"

"Do? Oh, nothing, nothing... it's just, he doesn't appear to be in his room and I can't fathom where he would have gone to." 

"He-he's gone?" 

"It does appear so," Mr Potter sighed. "Do you have any idea where a boy of his age might go at this time of night?"

"I haven't the foggiest," replied Mrs. Potter, pursing her lips. 

The Potters decided that they were going to wait until James returned home, even if it took all night. Despite this, Mrs. Potter decided that she had to head to bed just after midnight or else she'd fall asleep on her feet. Mr Potter bid her goodbye and continued to dwell on the sofa in the front room. He glanced out of the window at the path leading from his front door to the black gate surrounding the estate, hoping that the street lamp would illuminate his son's face, but there was no sign of him. 

It was very dark, very late and very cold when James finally returned home. His face was flushed pink with the cold and his t-shirt had been dampened by the earlier showers of rain. Mr Potter jumped to his feet and rushed into the hallway as James tried to sneak upstairs. "Where have you been?" Mr Potter hissed. James spun around.

"Uh... out." 

"That is evident," Mr Potter said dryly. "Where did you go?"

"Not far from Remus' house," James replied. "Sirius needed-needed help." 

"Sirius? That skinny looking boy who was here last summer?"

"Yes."

"Is everything okay, James?"

"Yes." 

"Good, well, come back down here," Mr Potter said, his voice sterner and more commanding now. James hung his head and shuffled towards his father. "Do you not understand how worried we were to find you missing?"

"I-I didn't think you'd notice," James mumbled.

"How did you even fathom that?"

"I only thought I'd be gone for an hour or so, but things got out of hand and I didn't understand the muggle bus system and-and I was gone for longer. I-I thought you'd be in bed by the time I got home."

"How could I sleep knowing that my little boy was missing somewhere?"

"Sorry." Mr Potter shook his head. He strode back into the library, knowing that James would pad after him. Mr Potter bent James over the arm of the sofa and pulled down his trousers. He brought his hand down rapidly. "Count, James."

"One, sir," James murmured. Mr Potter brought his hand down again. "Two, sir." Mr Potter applied two more strikes, "three sir, four, sir." 

Once he finally reached ten, Mr Potter stopped and began to rub his son's back. James wiped his nose and pulled himself back up to his feet. Mr Potter ruffled his hair. "Go to bed, James," Mr Potter instructed. James nodded. "On your way up," Mr Potter added as James padded out of the room, "say hello to your mother so she knows you're here; she's already gone to bed." James nodded. 


	19. Arthur & Ron Weasley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor  
Set during the summer between Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets.

Ron Weasley was laying on his bed, his eyes on an old quidditch magazine that his brothers had given him, when Mr Weasley returned home from work. It was killing him that he had to go to the Ministry everyday, despite it being the few weeks of the year that his sons were home, but it had to be done. 

Mr Weasley was visibly unhappy when he entered the kitchen. "What's wrong, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking up from her book. 

"Do these gnomes really return that quickly?" huffed Mr Weasley. 

"What do you mean? I don't think we've had a degnoming since the begin of the summer."

"What do _you_ mean? I asked Ron to do it this morning."

"The only time any of the boys have been downstairs today is for lunch," Mrs. Weasley told him. Mr Weasley shook his head. He placed his briefcase on the kitchen table and headed upstairs to the attic.

"Ronald," Mr Weasley growled, not bothering to knock the door before barging in. Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, dad."

"Let's skip the pleasantries; was the one thing that I asked you to do today?"

"The... oh."

"Yes, oh."

"Sorry, dad, I forgot, honest." 

"That's really not good enough," Mr Weasley told him in a voice filled with uncharacteristic sternness. "You're at an age now when you need to start being more responsible and this has proven that you can't be."

"Sorry, dad, I'll do it now," Ron said, standing up. Mr Weasley clucked his tongue.

"Take off your jeans, Ron." Ron stared, his eyes wide.

"But- Dad- bu-"

"I don't want to hear it," Mr Weasley said, holding up his hand. Ron shook his head and shuffled out of his jeans. Mr Weasley sat on the foot of the bed and pulled the twelve year old over his lap. 

Mr Weasley wasted no time in administrating hard whacks to his son's pale ass. He pulled down his underwear twenty swats in and continued to swat him through his tears until the skin was pink and he was certain that the boy could take no more.

Once he had finished, Mr Weasley pulled Ron's underwear back up and pulled him into a hug. Ron sniffed into his shoulder until he could compose himself. "I wouldn't put your jeans back on if I were you," Mr Weasley told him. "But I do need you to get round to that degnoming." Ron nodded and watched as the man left the room. 


	20. Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Prisoner of Azkaban.

With Crabbe and Goyle in detention, Draco was very bored. He sat on the sofa in the common room and stared at the empty fireplace, attempting to conjure up a great way to spend his time as he waited for them to return from McGonagal's classroom. He hummed softly to himself as he thought, unaware of the footsteps creeping up behind him. "Hey there," Pansy said, leaning over the back of the sofa. Draco flinched and stared up at her. "What are you up to?" 

"Not much," Draco replied.

"Where's your sidekicks?"

"Detention."

"How come?"

"They're pretty shit at transfiguration."

"That adds up. Want to try and sneak into the kitchens? I need to make sure I can get there before Millicent." 

"Sure," Draco shrugged.

He followed Pansy out of the common room and towards the Great Hall. Pansy pulled him behind a suit of armour as they spotted Flitwick waving his wand to clean up the end of the Gryffindor table. "What do we do?" Draco asked. "We're supposed to be in our common rooms since they haven't caught Black yet."

"Relax, Malfoy," Pansy chuckled. "He probably won't come this way anyway." Draco nodded. He stood on his tip-toes to try to get a better look at where Flitwick was going and who he was talking to. He held onto the shoulder of the suit of armour and grazed in with his fingernails. "If you get us caught, I will slap you _so_ hard."

"Oh, please, your slaps couldn't hurt me," Draco scoffed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You're too weak."

"Oh, am I?"

"I'm sure that Weasley girl slaps harder than you."

"Oh, is it, alright. Well, if you think you can slap harder than me, prove it."

"And how do I do that?"

"We'll get a neutral party and slap them and they can see which arm hurts worse."

"What's in it for me? What do I get when I win?"

"Well, when I win, I'm gonna slap your ass."

"Please, you won't win," Draco scoffed.

It didn't take Pansy long once they had returned to the common room to locate a first year that they could draw to the corner of the room. The boy rolled up his sleeves and bit his lip as Draco whacked his right forearm. "OW!" the boy cried out, but the babble of the other students masked it. Draco smirked. Pansy shrugged and rolled up her sleeve, before swatting the boy's left forearm. The boy grunted. 

"So, which one hurt the most?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. The boy stared at the red welts on his arms.

"The first one," he muttered, rubbing his arm. Draco smirked.

"Really?" leered Pansy. The boy nodded.

"Can I go now?" he asked. Pansy nodded. She thrust a chocolate frog at him and watched his shuffle away.

"Well, well, well, looks like somebody overestimates themselves a little," Draco chuckled. Pansy rolled her eyes. Draco sat on the armchair behind them. "Come on now," he said. Pansy raised an eyebrow. Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her unceremoniously over his lap. He applied three quick whacks to the tops of her thighs, before he let her up.

"You tell anyone, you die," Pansy hissed.

"Right."

"I'm still way better at magic than you are."

"Want to prove it?" Draco drawled. 


	21. Lana Lang & Jason Teague 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in season 4.

Jason arrived at Lana’s apartment with two cups of coffee. The door was unlocked, so he was able to waltz in and pad to Lana's room. He ratted his knuckles on the door. "Delivery!" he called. He could practically hear Lana roll her eyes.

"Hey," she murmured, opening the door. "How was college?"

"Meh," Jason shrugged, offering her a cup. "How was English?"

"Don't get me started," Lana groaned. Jason chuckled. 

"Do you want to head out for dinner?" 

"Oh, I can't sorry," Lana replied. "Chloe's coming over."

"How much homework are they giving you?"

"Definitely too much," Lana groaned. "Is there someone you can speak to about that? Anyway, this isn't schoolwork related, actually, Chloe just wanted someone to watch the horse racing with me as nobody else would watch it with her."

"I didn't realise you were interested in the derbies."

"I'm not, but she is." 

"Good thing I didn't buy us tickets, then."

"Yeah. Why? Are you interested?"

"Not really, but my mother was, and my grandmother, massively. I've learnt all the tricks of the trade."

"Oh, really," chuckled Lana. "You gonna make big bucks on who wins tonight then?"

"You betcha I will." 

Jason was sat on the couch when he heard a faint knock on the door. He stood up to answer it, but the door threw open, revealing Chloe. “Oh, hey coach,” Chloe said, smirking. Jason started at her, unsure what to say. “Relax,” she chuckled. “Lana told me.” Jason nodded, unsure what to say to that either and just sat back down. Chloe picked the remote and began flicking through the channels as Lana shuffled out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” she said, before she sat beside Jason. Chloe remained perched on the arm as she handed the remote to her friend. 

"I need to ask you something,” she said.

"What?" Lana asked.

"No, not you, _him_." Jason raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You know since you're dating my best friend now, do you think you could do me a favour?"

"What?"

"I'm supposed to be in detention with Quigley on Monday and I _really _don't want to go so can you get him to let me off?"

"No."

"Really? You won't even consider it?"

"I don't even think I could if I wanted to," Jason shrugged. "I'm his assistant, remember?" 

"You could at least try."

"No." 

"Knock it off," Lana told them. "Does anyone want snacks before it starts?"

"I'm good," Chloe shrugged. "But I do need a drink." She strode over to the kitchen unit while Jason yawned. "So, you geared up for the races? They can take a while."

"He knows," Lana said. "Apparently he's a veteran at these things and a genius at betting on them.”

"_Really_?" Chloe drawled. Jason shrugged. "Want to make it interesting, then?"

"I don't have much on me," Jason said, taking his wallet out of his pocket.

"Oh, come on, gambling for money is boring," groaned Chloe. "I said let's make it interesting."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" Lana asked. Chloe hummed thoughtfully. She looked around the kitchen before her eyes were fixed on the draining board, more specifically the wooden spoon. 

"This looks like she could do some damage," she chuckled. "If you lose, we get to hit you with this."

"What?" Jason scoffed. "Why would I agree to that?"

"Because if you win, you get to hit Lana."

"What?" Lana flared.

"Come on, friendly humiliation is always a higher stake than money."

"Why aren't I hitting you as well if you both get to whack me?" Jason inquired.

"Because you're a big guy," Chloe shrugged, "and, obviously, you wouldn't want to hurt Lana, but I doubt you'd care as much with me."

"That's a fair point, actually," Jason remarked. Lana slapped his arm playfully. "So, what are the rules here?" Jason asked as Chloe poured herself a glass of water. 

"Simple," she said, "Lana and I will pick a horse that we think will win and you pick a horse you think will win. Whoever is correct gets to swat the other with the spoon a couple of times." 

"What if neither of the horses win?" Lana asked.

"Then we just go with whoever was closest," Chloe shrugged, approaching the couch. Jason shrugged. 

Jason was confident with his choice. He had heard his grandmother and her sister discussing the things to look for with a horse and a jockey enough throughout his childhood for him to remember enough to look for when selecting a horse. He watched Lana write the name down as she and Chloe discussed their remaining options. "Are you sure you want to bet your ass on that one?" Chloe asked him. Jason nodded. 

Jason was a lot more relaxed throughout the race than his companions. Chloe and Lana were sat eagerly at the edge of their seats, watching intently as the horses sped off. Jason's pick was second throughout most of the race, but he didn't really mind, until their horse charged into third place. Fortunately for Jason, it seemed that his pick sped across the line first and Lana groaned. Jason smirked and ran a hand through his hair, before glancing at his watch. "Well, I need to get going," Jason announced. "I'll see you sometime over the weekend."

"Wait," Chloe said, “look.” Jason looked at the TV and saw that they were analysing the final frames again as the jockey in second place was claiming foul play. 

"Well, I still beat your horse anyway," Jason shrugged, glancing at his watch, "and, I do need to go."

"You won't beat us if your horse is disqualified," Lana noted. Jason groaned.

"Well, I'll be in touch over the results," he sighed. "I need to go or else my shitty neighbours are going to take my parking spot." Lana chuckled.

Much to Jason's dismay, he found later that night that his horse had indeed been disqualified as the rider had supposedly deliberately blocked the second placed horse from crossing the finishing line. Not only was that something in horse racing that Jason had never heard of before, but it meant that he had now lost the bet to Lana and Chloe. He decided not to immediately get in touch with his girlfriend about it and to head to bed.

Jason did not think that it was fair that he had to receive the forfeit; his horse _had_ won, it wasn't the horse's fault the jockey had moved him to block an opponent, nor was it something Jason could foresee when selecting his horse. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he heard his phone ringing and sighed. "Hello," he said, as cheerily as he could render up. 

"Hey," Lana replied. "Did you make it home okay?"

"Yeah, I must have gotten here just in time as those losers above me were walking up the stairs right as I turned on my TV." 

"Do you have any plans for the day?"

"Just studying really. What're you doing?"

"Pretty much the same. Do you want to come and study here; I won't distract you, much, and we can get coffee." 

"Why don't you study with Chloe?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Huh?"

"For telling Chloe we were dating."

"Sorry, 'were' dating?"

"You know what I mean," Lana chuckled. "Look, I swear, she won't tell anyone, she's not like that and-and it's nice, y'know, to talk about it with someone as if its not this big taboo thing." 

"Right," Jason replied gruffly.

"Are you mad?"

"Oh, no, no."

"Good."

"I just meant, y'know, you guys have the same material, so it makes more sense for you to study together and I'll go to the campus library."

"I don't see why we can't study different things in the same room." 

"I'll see you on Monday, yeah?"

"Jason," Lana said slowly, before Jason could hang up. He huffed.

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to chicken out of this?"

"Out of what?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I'm not chickening out of anything," Jason said stiffly. "I just don't think it's fair as this wasn't something we could foresee before the race, hell, it's never happened before at a competition of this size."

"Look, I know jack about horse racing," Lana chuckled, "but, whether you predicted it or not, your horse was disqualified, so you didn't even get a ranking, meaning our third place ranks higher than yours."

"Right."

"Don't be a baby."

"Shut up." 

"Do you want to come over for lunch? I'll order up some pizza."

"I- .... sure." 

Jason knocked the door to Lana's apartment twice before he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He shifted his weight from foot to foot until he heard Lana open the door. "Hey," she said, smiling at him. "You look cute in that hat." Jason rolled his eyes and pulled off his beanie as he followed her into the apartment. Chloe was sat on the sofa, pouring a can of coke into a glass. He lingered in the kitchen and dropped his hat onto the counter. "Do you want to sit down?" Lana asked, indicating to the couch, which was littered with textbooks and paper. "We can make room." 

"Oh, no, it's fine."

"Come on, you made it this far," Chloe chuckled, "don't chicken out now." Jason rolled his eyes. 

"Pizza should be here any second," Lana told him, collecting all of her textbooks anyway. Jason nodded.

"You're not really _that_ scared of a couple of whacks from your girlfriend, are you?" Chloe asked. Jason rolled his eyes again. 

"I still don't think it's fair you both get to hit me," he said miserably. 

To be fair to them, nobody brought up anything to do with horse racing or bets or spoons while they were eating. Jason eventually caved and sat beside Lana, letting her lean against his chest as she ate, her eyes scanning a piece of paper on the coffee table. He ate his pizza hurriedly, hungry since he neglected to have breakfast, and half-listened to Chloe complaining about algebra. 

Jason thought he was going to get lucky. They spent an hour in Lana's living room where he listened to the pair complain about teachers and subjects and school in general, neither of them ever mentioning his forfeit, until they went to clear up the remnants of lunch. "When are you heading off?" Jason heard Lana ask. "Do you have time to watch a movie first?"

"No, I'd better be going, my dad'll wonder where I am if I'm too late." 

"Oh, alright then." Jason sipped his water as he heard Lana throw something in the bin. 

"Do you want this?" he heard Chloe ask. Lana chuckled but didn't respond verbally. 

Jason internally groaned when Chloe returned holding the wooden spoon. He pretended not to notice her, his eyes stuck to his phone, but out of the corner of his eye he could see her smirk. "I need to go soon," she said, "so let's get this over with."

"I still don't see how this is fair," Jason mumbled.

"Alright, if it shuts you up, I won't whack you," Chloe said. Jason raised an eyebrow as Lana approached them. "I'll just be an observer."

"Or, Lana could do it after you've gone."

"No, I need to ensure it's done to feel satisfied the bet has been paid off." Jason rolled his eyes.

"If I were you, I'd just get it over with," Lana told him, taking the spoon from Chloe. Jason huffed. 

"Come on, big guy, bite the bullet for a second and bend over the couch." 

"Seriously?" 

"Yeah." Jason stared at Chloe for a moment, before turning his gaze to Lana. She had less conviction than Chloe about the whole thing, but her face told him that he wouldn't be getting out of this. Jason groaned. He pulled off his jacket and threw it onto the couch, before positioning himself so he was bent over the arm. He rested his head in his hands so he couldn't see Chloe ogle at him as he heard Lana stride over until she was stood behind him. 

"The rules were I'd get whacked a couple of times, so don't go too overboard," Jason said warningly, although he accepted he was in no position to bargain. He heard Chloe scoff. He shut his eyes as Lana cracked the spoon against the seat of his jeans the first time. Although she wasn't using much force, it hurt much more than he had expected it to. Lana hit him twice again quickly, the sting from the first not passing by the time the second came. 

"One for luck," Chloe chuckled.

"You better not be recording this," Jason grunted. Lana sniggered as she brought the spoon against him again. Chloe chuckled as she took the spoon from Lana and headed back to the kitchen. Jason remained in position, his ass feeling warmer than it had previously, and ran a hand through his hair.

"You alright?" Lana asked. Jason shrugged. 

"I'd better go," Chloe called. Lana nodded and watched her friend leave, before she rubbed her boyfriend's back soothingly. 

"You sure you're alright?" she questioned. Jason nodded. Finally, he slid down so he was laying on the couch, his head on the opposite arm. Lana chuckled at him. He bit his lip as he spun around, the seat of his jeans rubbing against the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. Lana clambered onto the couch and laid beside him, her head against his heart. "Can you stay for a bit?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied, running his hand down her arm as she retrieved the remote from the coffee table. 


	22. May & Peter Parker 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Set after Homecoming.

"Don't forget to give this to Happy after school," May told Peter, handing him an envelope as he threw his textbooks into his rucksack. The boy cocked his head. "It's money to pay him back for the new fan in the bathroom," his aunt told him. Peter nodded. He slipped the envelope into his backpack and tied the laces of his sneakers. 

Peter was very careful to make sure that nobody was able to touch his backpack while he was in school. He knew that his aunt wasn't incredibly financially stable, so she couldn't afford to lose the $150 she was sending Happy. Ned seemed to notice that Peter was more aware of where he was putting his backpack by lunch "Are you hiding something?" he asked. "Is it for the Avengers?"

"What? No. No."

"So, why are you acting so strange?"  
  
"May gave me a lot of money this morning," Peter whispered, "and I can't lose it."

"Cool. Are you going to go shopping after school?"

"What? No. No. The money's to give to Happy."

"Why?"

"He bought us a new extractor fan for the bathroom since I couldn't fix our old one and May feels bad, so I need to give the money to him after school."

"Are you going to meet him at the Avengers' compound?"

"No, no, I'm just meeting him at Stark Industries."

"I guess that's cool too," Ned said. Peter nodded. 

Peter left school and was headed to the subway when he heard a scream, so, instead of turning left, he turned right and hid behind a dumpster as he threw off his clothes and pulled on his suit. He shot a web at his backpack to stick it to the back of the dumpster and flipped up onto the wall.

He could easily see the source of the scream, which was a middle-aged woman backing against a wall, her eyes wide and fixed on two men with knives. Peter flipped over the wall. The woman was crying, although she had stopped screaming, and her eyes seemed to widen even more when she spotted Spider-Man standing beside her attackers. "You know," Peter drawled, sounding more confident than he probably should have been, "that's not nice." Before the men could spin around to look at him, Peter kicked one of them in the face and webbed his hand to the floor when he fell. He had to fight the second one a little, but didn't take long to disarm him and web him to the nearby dumpster. "Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked the woman. She nodded shakily. Peter nodded and shot his web at a streetlamp so he could swing over the wall, back into the alleyway. 

Peter was disappointed to find that his backpack had disappeared again as it meant he couldn't change out of the suit. He pulled his mask back over his head and swung around New York until he got to the fire escape outside of his bedroom. He slipped through the open window and crawled across the ceiling so he could shut the door, before he dived onto the floor. He took a sweater and a pair of sweatpants out of the draws and swiftly changed out of his suit. He could hear May shifting around the kitchen, so he inhaled and slipped out of his room.

"Hey, May," he said uncomfortably. May spun around, her hand on her chest, and wheezed.

"Oh, Peter," she said, "you shocked me; I didn't hear you come in." 

"Oh, right."

"I've got a new chicken recipe from Mrs. Leeds that I'm going to try out for dinner, does that sound good to you?"

"Sure." 

"Anything else?"

"Uh... I need a new backpack and-and a new math book."

"You lost _another_ backpack? How?"

"I heard this-this woman shouting after school, so I did my Spider-Man thing and-and when I came back, it was gone."

"Wait, you went out to be Spider-Man after school? When did you give Happy the money?" May inquired. Peter froze and gaped at her. 

"I - uh... I forgot about that," he mumbled. May widened her eyes. 

"YOU FORGOT!" she more or less thundered. Peter bit his lip and nodded. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

"May, I-"

"No, Peter, go! Get out of my sight!" 

Peter sat on his bed and wrung his hands together as he heard May pacing the hallway outside the door. He wanted to go outside and try to calm her down, but he knew that he wouldn't be welcome. 

Peter had been sitting there for almost an hour when May barged through the door, not bothering to knock. Peter could see that she was holding her wooden spoon in her hand, it half-hidden by her leg, and shook his head. "I asked you to do _one_ thing for me," May told him sternly. "I don't ask for much, Peter, but this was important." Peter nodded dumbly. "Get up." Peter sighed. He forced himself to his feet and shuffled awkwardly around his aunt as she sat down. "Jeans down," she barked, "over my lap." Peter groaned.

"Can't we talk about this, May?"

"_Now_, Peter." Peter nodded. He pulled down his jeans and lowered himself onto May's lap, who immediately began to hit the tops of his thighs with the hard wood. "I know you feel an obligation to the city and I know you must have felt like you had had to do this, but when I ask you to do something, I expect it to be done," May lectured as she spanked. "I thought you were more responsible than this! That money was important! What are we going to do now? You need to _think_ more before you do." Peter nodded and bit his lip as May continued to swat him. The wood didn't hurt him much, but the knowledge that he had disappointed his aunt so much and the sadness in her voice was enough to reduce him to tears anyway.

"Sorry," he sobbed.

"I know, I know," May said. She dropped the spoon onto the bed and began to rub his back. "It's okay." 


	23. John & Dean Winchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains parental spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series.

Dean made sure that Sammy had been fed and was laying on his side of their bed, his eyes on one of his books, before he slipped his muddy boots back on. "I'm going out," he announced, collecting his keys from the coffee table and his hand-me-down, leather jacket from the armchair. Sam's shaggy head looked up from the book and narrowed his eyes.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "It's late." 

"We don't have anything for breakfast," Dean told him, "so, I'm going to go pick up cereal. Do you want anything else?"

"No, thanks, Dean," Sam muttered. Dean nodded. "Hey, Dean," Sam called, as Dean turned to walk away. He groaned.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Hurry back, yeah?"

"Sure thing, Sammy." 

Dean strode into the local convenience store and headed straight for the aisle filled with boxes of cereal. He found a store-made, cheaper version of cheerios and headed to the check-out. On his way, he got himself a bar of chocolate and a bag of gummy bears to share with Sammy. The cashier didn't spare more than a glance at the teenager in front of her or question where his parents were, which Dean appreciated as he didn't have to make something up. He gave her the money, scooped his items in to a paper bag, and left the shop. 

Dean returned to the motel speedily and ducked past the window to his and Sammy's room. He hid the bag of groceries behind the dumpster around the corner and sauntered back through the parking lot and around the corner, towards the town he had seen when they had driven to the library. 

Dean soon found his destination: the local bar. He strode in and kept his head high. Although his facial hair was still patchy and he had acne on his chin, he was nearly as tall as his father now and, with the help of the leather jacket, he looked just as broad. He supposed as long as he didn't talk too much, nobody would be able to guess that he was significantly underage. His dad and Bobby had always told him that the bars were used to college kids sneaking in anyway, so as long as he gave the impression that he was supposed to be there, he thought he'd be fine. 

Dean's first order of business was slipping into the bathroom so he could pee. Once he was finished with that, he headed back into the bar and around the corner, to where there was three pool tables. Dean knew the drill; he was good at pool and it didn't take long for him to find someone cocky enough to bet against him. 

Dean spent close to two hours cleaning up pool tables and bringing in as much money as he could wager. He bought himself a packet of peanuts, not wanting to push his luck and try and buy a beer, and strode out of the building. He was fully intending to head back to the motel when one of the young men he had been playing against followed him. "Hey, kid," the man said, taking off his cap and smiling, "you're real good."

"Uh... thanks," Dean muttered gruffly.

"Hey, how old are you?"

"Eighteen," Dean lied. 

"Damn, you're good. I didn't even know how to _play_ when I was eighteen," the man chuckled. Dean nodded. "Want one?" the man asked, opening a box of cigarettes. Dean didn't know what to say; he'd never smoked before, John had had a smoking habit in the marines and had forbidden his kids from ever touching the things, but he supposed he'd look more mature if he agreed.

"Sure," Dean shrugged. "But I don't have my lighter on me." 

"No worry, dude," the man said. He lit his own cigarette before handing one to Dean, who awkwardly placed it between his lips. The man lit it for him and took a drag of his own. "Wow, my head is buzzing," he chuckled. "Although, I suppose you haven't had anything to drink, right?"

"No, sir." 

"Haha, want me to get you something?"

"No, I'm good," Dean said, knowing that there was no way that Sam wouldn't tell on him if he returned to the motel stinking of booze.

"Alright then, well, I'd better head on back to the boys before they decide to leave me here," chuckled the man. "'Twas nice meeting you." Dean nodded and watched the man drop his cigarette onto the floor as he took a drag of his. He coughed, feeling his lungs burn, and was happy that the man hadn't seen him. 

Dean was still outside, struggling to work out how so many musicians managed to look effortless when they smoked, when the door of the bar swung open again. He heard footsteps behind him, but he wasn't expecting a hand to clasp his shoulder. "Hey," Dean snarled, spinning around. He widened his eyes when he saw his dad staring at him.

"Dean? I thought it was you. What are you doing here?" John asked. Dean took the cigarette out of his mouth and pulled the wad of cash out of his pocket.

"Hustling," he shrugged. John studied him for a moment and scratched his head. 

"Are you-are you smoking?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. John was no longer curious but clearly angry and Dean didn't know what to do. He dropped the cigarette onto the ground and widened his eyes. 

"I-I- uh...."

"What were you thinking?" John growled. "Where's your brother? Is he here?"

"No, sir, uh... he's at the motel."

"Oh, good." Dean nodded and backed away as his father ran a hand over his chin. John shook his head and gripped Dean's arm, stopping him from getting any further. Dean huffed. "I'll drag you to the car if I have to," John hissed quietly. "Do I?" Dean shook his head. He slowly padded after his father around the corner and to the gravelly parking lot. He slipped into the front of the impala and sighed.

"How'd the hunt go?"

"Good." 

"Are you sure you're sober enough to drive?"

"Yes, Dean, now do yourself a favour and shut up, I'm royally pissed at you." 

"Aw come on, listen, some guy-"

"I don't want to hear it, you know I don't want you or Sam touching those things."

"I know, I know, but-"

"No, no 'buts', you know that I don't accept that and yet you went and did it anyway because you thought that there was no way that you could get caught, right?"

"I-I guess that was one of the reasons."

"Right," John said gruffly. "You just sit there and shut up." 

They drove in silence back to the motel. Dean bit his lip, knowing exactly what he had coming to him and hoping that John would just get it over with. He hated the anticipation. When they parked the car, they sat in silence again for a few moments before John began to clamber out. "Come on, you, get inside," John snapped. Dean raised an eyebrow. John slapped the roof of the car and stared at his son. "Are you questioning my authority?" 

"No, sir."

"Good, now, get inside."

"Dad, please-"

"What is it, Dean?" 

"Can't you- can't you do it out here? I-I don't want Sam to see."

"Get inside, Dean." 

"Dad, please, I-"

"I don't want to hear it," John snapped. Dean hung his head. "Listen, we both know what you have coming to you, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Dean mumbled.

"But, I'm tired Dean and, as you said, I've been drinking, and I'm still royally pissed at you for defying me like that, so you're going to get your ass inside and get to bed and we're going to deal with this in the morning when I have a clearer head about me."

"Oh, dad, come on," Dean groaned. "Can't we just get it over with?"

"Dean, I'm not going to do it when I'm drunk; that's not right."

"You were sober enough to drive, right?"

"Dean, just get your butt inside." 

"Alright," Dean huffed, accepting defeat. John locked the car as Dean trampled towards the dumpster.

"Where the hell are you going?" John called. Dean cursed, knowing that Sam must've heard that. "What was that?" John asked. 

"Nothing," Dean muttered.

"It didn't sound like nothing," John snapped. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I-I hid our breakfast here before I went to the bar."

"And why would you do that?" John chuckled, mildly amused.

"Because- because I told Sam I'd be back quick, so I couldn't go inside and then leave again."

"Oh, so not only did you defy me, but you deliberately deceived your brother, too?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said as he hung his head. John shook his head and took the brown paper bag from Dean.

"Quite a breakfast you have here," he remarked. "Now, come on, let's go, time for bed." Dean nodded. 

*

Dean woke to the sound of whistling and to the smell of coffee. He could feel Sam's foot against his leg and groaned. He rubbed his eyes as he sat up and fished his t-shirt from the floor, before he strode towards the kitchenette. "Morning," he said gruffly. John nodded.

"Hungry?" he asked. "I know you bought provisions, but I was thinking of taking us out for breakfast."

"Sure," Dean yawned. He accepted the mug of coffee John gave him. He wondered if John had forgotten the events of the night before, leading up to the revelation of the cereal; it was unlike him, but Dean wasn't going to check. 

"I'll get Sam up," John announced. Dean nodded. 

Dean sat in silence in the small diner John drove them to and listened to Sam tell John all about what he was doing in chemistry and the play that he had hoped to audition for. John himself didn't order anything, but watched his boys eat full plates of bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes, smiling at them. He drank his black coffee and led them out, all the while Sam was still babbling on about a rocket he and a friend had made for a physics project. 

Dean slumped onto the old couch when they returned to the motel. Sam was listening to John tell a story of a volcano he once made for school and how his mother had struggled to grasp the concept of papermache and got the paper stuck to her coat. Sam chuckled. "Okay, bud, I think you need to shower, now," John told him. Sam frowned.

"No, I showered yesterday." 

"Well, shower again today, we'll be driving tomorrow and you won't have the chance to," John said. Sam groaned and trudged into the bathroom, dragging his feet hopelessly. John sat onto the couch beside Dean and stared at his son, who turned off the TV. "Come on," John said, once they heard the sound of rushing water. "You know what you have coming to you." Dean nodded grumpily. He stood up and picked up his jacket from behind the chair. John raised an eyebrow. "What're you doing?"

"Aren't-aren't we going out?"

"Kid, I can't just leave Sam here," John muttered.

"How long is this going to take?" Dean asked, already mortified. John had to force himself not to chuckle. 

"Just hurry up and take your jeans off," he said. Dean nodded. He dropped his coat again and kicked off his boots, before he unbuckled his belt and began to unbutton his jeans. John stood up and gripped his arm, pulling him so he was over the arm of the couch. John drew the curtains so nobody from the parking lot could see in, before he picked up Dean's discarded belt. "We already went over what you did last night, but why don't you refresh me anyway?" he drawled.

"Uh... I defied you and deceived Sam."

"How did you deceive your brother?" 

"I-I deliberately lied to him by saying I'd be back soon, but knowing I wouldn't."

"And how did you defy me?" 

"By smoking."

"Right," John said, before he brought the belt down onto Dean's rear. Dean grunted at the impact. John swung again and again until Dean was struggling to compose himself and biting his fist. 

Dean felt his cheeks flushed hot and tears rolling down his face when John finally dropped the belt onto the floor. He gave Dean a few moments to catch his breath before he spoke. "Get up," he said, "and get into the corner." Dean nodded, not bothering to pull up his jeans. "Hands on your head," John barked. Dean wordlessly complied. He could hear Sam whistling in the shower and hoped that his brother hadn't heard much of what was going on. 

Not long after, he heard Johns footsteps approach. The man didn't say anything, he just moved Dean's hands off his head and tutted. "You can't keep doing this to yourself," he stated, studying his red knuckles. "I don't care about your pride; you could actually damage yourself."

"Sorry."

"Are you, though?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. For one, I need to be able to tell what damage I'm doing to you so I don't cross a line, or else I'm going to have to do it bare, and you need to use your hands, so making them red and sore won't help you."

"Yes, sir."

"I mean it, Dean."

"I know, sir."

"Good." John ruffled his son's hair and pulled him into a tight hug. Dean leant his hot cheek against his father's shoulder and let himself relax for a minute, before he heard the water stop. "Go and lay down," John instructed him, "and straighten yourself out a little. I'm going in the shower next." Dean nodded and pulled up his jeans, before flopping onto his bed, sighing, as he heard Sam plod out of the bathroom. 


	24. May & Peter Parker & Ned Leeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Set post-homecoming

Peter, or rather Spider-Man, didn't know what to say when the man first presented him with the paper bag. He accepted it dumbly and thanked the clearly intoxicated man, whom he had saved from being hit by a car, before he swung back onto the fire escape. 

Peter kept the bag in his underwear draw. He had soon found that the bag contained a bottle of whiskey and that he had no use for it, although he did not know how to dispose of it, so he left it there and hoped that May would never find it. 

Fortunately for Peter, May never did, but that did not mean that it went undetected. There was a weekend in April when Mr and Mrs. Leeds had traveled to Ohio for a funeral of a great-aunt Ned had never met, so May had agreed to let him stay with them. After school on Friday, May wasn't home yet, so Ned and Peter tried to make cupcakes, but the electric whisk splattered batter all over them. Peter just threw his sweater in the hamper, but Ned had nothing but his _Star Wars_ t-shirt, so he had to rummage through Peter's dresser to find a hoody that he liked. 

"Peter!" he called after a while. Curiously, Peter slid down the hallway and opened his door. "What's this?" Ned asked, holding the paper bag. Peter widened his eyes.

"You can't touch that," he hissed.

"Why? Are you an alcoholic now?"

"What? No. No, of course not, some guy gave that to me and I didn't know what to do with it."

"Why's some guy giving high schoolers alcohol?"

"He-he didn't, he gave it to _Spider-Man_."

"Oh... I get it."

"Yeah."

"So, have you tried it?"

"What? No. No! That's like, illegal, and Spider-Man can't do illegal things."

"Iron Man did illegal things as a teenager but he's still Iron Man."

"Yes, but, Spider-Man can't afford a lawyer to get away with those things."

"Luckily for Spider-Man, there's no witnesses, so nobody will know." 

"Ned, come on, man, just put it away." Ned shook his head and unscrewed the bottle. 

Peter didn't remember how many mouthfuls of the beverage he had had, but he knew that he had not had as much as Ned, who was very dizzy and starry-eyed when May came home. Peter widened his eyes as she studied the sight before her; two teenage boys, one in stained clothes, with a bottle of whiskey, on the floor of her living room. "What is going on here?" she demanded.

"May, let-let me explain," Peter said hurriedly.

"PETER'S SPIDER-MAN!" Ned cried. Peter shook his head. "AND PEOPLE GIVE SPIDER-MAN THINGS TO SAY THANK YOU FOR BEING AWESOME."

"Someone gave Spider-Man whiskey?" May scoffed. Peter nodded. "And you _drank_ it? You're sixteen!"

"I-I don't think I can get drunk," Peter said. "I mean, i feel fine."

"That's besides the point!" cried May. 

"She seems angry," Ned said. Peter rolled his eyes. 

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" May shouted.

"I-I supposed I just wanted to see what it tasted like."

"I gave you some white wine last year and you said you'd hated it."

"I wanted to see if my taste buds had matured." 

"I WANT SUPER POWERS!" Ned cried. May shook her head. 

"Peter, go and get me my spoon," she snapped. Peter bowed his head and shuffled to the kitchen. 

The spoon remained on the coffee table in the living room while Ned was violently ill in the bathroom. After ensuring that he was okay, May led the boys back into the living room. "Ned, I want you to go and stand in the corner," she instructed. Ned nodded and shuffled to the corner of the room, while Peter waited beside her chair. "Jeans down," May demanded. Peter nodded and dropped his jeans, before falling into May's lap. She wasted no time in peppering the swats to his backside. "I don't care," she said, "how many people give you presents or praise you or think you're _awesome_, you're a kid and kids act appropriately, or else they get punished."

"I know," Peter mumbled sadly.

"What in the world made you think this was a good idea?"

"I-I didn't."

"Pardon?"

"I didn't think-think it was a good-d-d idea," Peter muttered through the spanks.

"And yet you did it anyway?"

"Yes," Peter sniffed. May shook her head and hit his rear twice more.

"Go and stand in the other corner," she snapped. Peter nodded and fastened up his jeans, before shifting to the corner. "Ned, come here," May called. Ned groaned and shuffled over to her. "Undo your jeans," she ordered. "This won't be tolerated in my house." Ned nodded and leant over the end of the couch. May began applying the strikes to the boy's backside, ignoring his cries of pain. "You _cannot_ do reckless things like this and expect there to be no consequences," she lectured. "You're a smart kid and need to think more, do you understand me."

"Yes," Ned sniffed.

"Good," May said, throwing the spoon onto the floor. She patted Ned's back soothingly, before striding across the room to pull Peter into a hug. "Alright, go and clear up my kitchen," she said. Peter chuckled. 


	25. Tommy Merlyn & Thea Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Set after the 3.14 flashback scene.

Out of all the people Tommy never expected to see at his parties, exes, friends from middle school, his dad, Ollie's baby sister Thea was definitely high up on that list. 

He almost didn't recognise her as he spotted the teen and her friends approach the keg in the corner of the room. This usually wouldn't bother him as he never really knew everyone who came to his parties, but he was concerned as, despite their high heels and make-up, he could tell that they were obviously under twenty one. Sometimes, there'd be college kids trying to sneak in and Tommy would accept it. He'd done much worse as a kid and he knew that his security stopped too much shit from happening at these, however, Tommy doubted that they were even old enough to be in college. Once he heard her laugh, however, as she poured herself a drink. He widened his eyes and gaped at her as Thea and her friends joined a group of young men that were clearly much older than her.

Tommy decided that it would be against his better judgement to approach the group immediately as some of the men were much bigger than he was and, regardless, if Thea was adamant that she was staying, the group could easily overpower him. 

Tommy waited until Thea and one of her friends approached the keg. The other girl was older than Thea and flirting with the boy beside the keg, so Tommy strode over to her. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, grabbing her wrist. Thea raised an eyebrow.

"Uh... hey?" she muttered. 

"What are you doing here?" he repeated. 

"Enjoying the party," Thea shrugged. "Happy birthday, by the way." 

"This is ridiculous, how did you even get in here," Tommy grumbled. "I need to tighten the security."

"Oh, come on, Tommy, lighten up," Thea groaned. Tommy shook his head at her.

"Come on," he said. "You're leaving. Are any of your friends also high schoolers?"

"No, come on, you're being ridiculous."

"Thea, I mean it," Tommy growled. Thea widened her eyes; she'd never seen him so angry before. 

"Alright," she huffed. "Two of the girls are in my grade, yeah."

"Get them and tell them to go, or I'll get my security to have you removed." 

"Alright, alright."

*

Tommy headed to the Queen Manor the following morning. He was still tired from the night before and hungry as he had skipped breakfast, but he had other things to worry about. 

Walter let Tommy into the house on his way out and he immediately rushed upstairs to Thea's room. He knocked the door and stood outside impatiently as he waited for her to open it. "Wha- oh, it's you," Thea groaned, once she'd pulled it open. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk," Tommy told her seriously. 

"About what?"

"You know exactly what."

"Oh, come on, Tommy, I thought you were cooler than this."

"Do you want to talk to me or am I going to have to get Laurel's dad to come over here and lecture you on underage drinking?"

"Fine, fine, fine, come on," Thea huffed. 

Tommy sat on the foot of the bed and watched as the girl paced back and forth. "I don't understand your issue," she groaned. "You and Ollie used to do shit like that all the time." Tommy scoffed.

"We'd throw stupid parties for high schoolers," Tommy said. "The most you'd get was a passed out junior and maybe a few kids high cos of weed or something tame like that. I don't know the majority of people who go to my parties these days, but most of them are over twenty one and in to binge drinking and there's been a few occasions when someone's tried to bring in drugs. It's not a place for a teenager." 

"Sounds like you really _do_ need better security."

"You do understand why I'm concerned for you, right? I'm not just trying to be a dick, you could get yourself hurt."

"Oh, leave me alone, Merlyn." 

"Thea, I mean it. You're too young to be going out to get drunk and-"

"Just shut up, Merlyn," Thea growled.

"Fine," Tommy huffed, grabbing her arm. "Maybe I'll have to find another way to get through to you." He maneuvered the girl onto his lap and pulled down her pyjama bottoms. he began swatting her pale rear as the girl kicked and tried to pull away from him. Tommy gritted his teeth and continued to swat her until the white was now a rosy pink. "Are you going to listen to me now?"

"Alright, alright."

"Why did you even think going to that party was a good idea?"

"I thought it'd be cool," Thea murmured, wiping tears from her eyes. Tommy stood up and wrapped her in a tight hug. He kissed the top of her head and let her cry into his shoulder for a little while, before helping her lay on the bed. 

"I don't want to risk sounding too old here, but, seriously, alcohol poisoning isn't a joke and if you're going to insist on drinking underage you have to do it safely; that wasn't safely."

"Alright," Thea sniffed. "I just- I thought it would be fun, y'know?"

"Were you just going to avoid me the entire night?" Tommy chuckled.

"No! We-we were going to say happy birthday to you, we just wanted to wait until you were drunk enough not to care we were there." Tommy snorted.

"Hey, Thea, listen," he said slowly, "If you and a couple of friends want to hang out and have a beer or two, we can do that, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Thea muttered, smiling. Tommy smiled back.

"Have you had breakfast yet? I'm _starving_." 

"Not yet," Thea chuckled. 


	26. Tom & Harry Holland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains corporal punishment of a teenager.

Tom woke to a crash. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, to see Harry staring at him. Between the boy and the bed was the remnants of Tom's wardrobe, which had apparently collapsed. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" Tom snapped. Harry bit his lip. "Well?" 

"I just wanted to borrow your hoody," the younger man said. Tom widened his eyes.

"Again? You're stealing my clothes again? It's bad enough that you do it when I'm not here but while I'm trying to sleep?"

"I was going to go out and I don't have anything warm," Harry mumbled. Tom shook his head. He strode out of bed and leant over Harry to slam the door. Harry cowered under his gaze, forgetting that he was now the taller of the two brothers. 

"I swear, if dad were here, I'd get him to whack your ass _so_ hard," Tom groaned. 

"Sucks for you he's in Scotland then," Harry retorted.

"Yeah," Tom muttered through gritted teeth. "Although, I was told to look after you, and dad always said discipline was a part of that."

"Tom, no-" Harry said. 

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking. No."

"I don't think you get a say in it, mate," Tom said. "Now, are you going to take off your jeans or should I?" 

"Tom-"

"_Harry?_" 

"Fine," Harry huffed. He unfastened his jeans and dropped them to his knees. Tom gestured to the end of the bed. Painstakingly slowly, Harry leant over the foot of the bed and rested his head in his hands. Tom picked up a belt from the contents of the collapsed wardrobe and swung it down forcefully. Harry gasped. 

It only took ten swats for Harry to flush pink while tears rolled down his cheeks. "Tom- Tom, come on," he hissed as Tom brought the belt down again. "I'm sorry, man, _I'm sorry_." Tom studied his brother. He brought the belt down once more, before he dropped it onto the floor dismissively and pulled Harry into a bear hug. He rubbed his neck and ruffled his curly locks and the younger man sniffled and hid his face in Tom's neck. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I know, I know," Tom said soothingly. "Just- just ask next time, yeah?"

"Yeah."


	27. Molly & Charlie Weasley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series

Hail, ice and below zero temperatures plagued England in December. Molly looked up from the sink as she saw Arthur, Bill and Charlie approaching the house. She brushed the feathers of Bill’s owl, who had arrived previously that morning, and proceeded to wave her wand so the pans began to wash themselves. 

Mrs. Weasley waited for her older sons to settle in and answer all of the questions that their brothers had, before she marched upstairs. She knocked the door of her sons’ room and waited for Bill to open it. “Oh, hey mum,” he said, “I thought you might be Percy again.”

"No," Mrs. Weasley chuckled. "Could you go downstairs and set the table? Lunch will be ready soon." 

"Oh, Mum," Bill groaned. "I'm tired and I still need to unpack." 

"You can do that later, now, shoo." Bill groaned and headed downstairs, while Mrs. Weasley sat on his bed, facing Charlie, who was unpacking his trunk. "Charlie," she said, "look at me for a minute." Charlie dropped his sweater back into his trunk and sat on his bed, staring at her. "How's school this year?"

"Good," Charlie replied. 

"Are you sure? There's nothing going on?"

"No."

"So, what's different to last year?"

"Uh... I'm on the quidditch team this year," Charlie said brightly. "That's fun."

"Charlie, we both know that McGonagal has promised to take you off the team if you get into any more trouble." Charlie huffed. "What's going on? I've had eight owls informing me that you've been put in detention for something or other. _Eight!_ That's more than once a fortnight!" Charlie hung his head.

"That's- that's just a misunderstanding," he muttered.

"A misunderstanding? How does that happen so many times?" 

"I dunno."

"You don't know how you were put in detention eight times since September?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Right." Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands and gestured her son to stand up. She waved her wand thrice in quick succession and soon the boy was bent over the bed, a magical hairbrush assaulting his rear as he squeaked indignantly. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he groaned. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips. "I-It won't h-h-happen again."

"It better not," Mrs. Weasley said, waving her wand again, causing the brush to disappear, "or we'll end up right back here, understood?"

"Yes, mum."


	28. Augusta & Neville Longbottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series

Neville was both excited and nervous as he packed his trunk. On Sunday, he'd be boarding the Hogwarts Express to school for the first time, so they were headed to his Great Uncle's house for the weekend to celebrate. Neville knew that his grandmother was already packed; the woman was always much more organised than he was. 

Once Neville had packed all of his clothes and shoes, he started to collect the books from the pile he had made in the corner of the room. His grandmother had taken him to Diagon Alley earlier that week, so he made sure that every book on his school list was in his bag, before he searched for his other equipment. It was harder than Neville had anticipated forcing the cauldron into the trunk, but once he was done, all he had left was to pack everything Great Uncle Algie had bought him to look after his new toad. 

Neville was certain that he had packed everything when he decided to reread his list. He checked off all of his books, his clothes, his cauldron, a pet- although Trevor was not actually in his trunk, but downstairs with his grandmother- and his spare robes. Neville scratched his head before he realised he was yet to pack his new wand. 

Neville ransacked his wardrobe, cupboard and the empty boxes beside his bed, but was unable to find the wand of cherry wood that he was looking for. He groaned and flopped onto his bed when he heard a knock on the door. "Neville, do you want sandwiches?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, pushing open the door. She was holding a tray of small, triangular sandwiches with a glass of pumpkin juice. "What on earth happened here?" she asked, studying the mess that Neville had made while searching for his wand.

"Packing," Neville mumbled.

"What on earth does packing have to do with this mess?"

"I-I need to pack my wand."

"Okay, and?"

"I-I can't find it."

"Oh, Neville!" Mrs. Longbottom exasperated. "How have you managed to lose _that_ of all things." Neville shrugged. "Where did you last put it?"

"I don't know." 

"That's simply not good enough," scoffed Mrs. Longbottom. "Go and get my spoon." Neville bowed his head and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen. 

Mrs. Longbottom did not say anything once Neville returned to his bedroom. She pulled the preteen over her lap and began to pepper his backside in smacks. Neville shifted to try to get away, but Mrs. Longbottom wouldn't let him.

Once she was content that Neville had had the lesson sunk in, she sent the teary eyed boy to wait in the corner. "_Accio_ Nevile's wand," she said, waving her own. Neville's wand shot into the room from wherever it had been downstairs. "Wait there for five minutes to calm down and then have your lunch." Neville nodded. 


	29. John & Sam Winchester 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains parental spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series

Dean awoke to hear the sound of knocking on the window. He jumped up from the couch and picked up his pocketknife, before he slowly approached the window. He drew back the blue curtain a little and was surprised to see his father stood outside. Dean didn't loosen his grip on his pocketknife as he opened the window and raised an eyebrow. "Good, you're still up," John said.

"Actually, I fell asleep on the couch," Dean muttered.

"It doesn't matter," John said. "I'm just glad I didn't have to stay out here all night."

"Uh... why didn't you just use the door?"

"I can't find my key. Besides, a benefit of first floor rooms is I don't need to interact with the people at the desk." 

"Right." 

"Could you let me in, kid? I need a shower."

"Alright, but, be careful not to wake Sam."

"Just shut up and move."

"Yes, sir." 

Dean dropped his pocketknife onto the coffee table and threw off his sweater, before he climbed into his side of the double bed he shared with Sam. Sam's feet were cold and he was snoring louder than usual, but Dean didn't mind. He could hear the running water from the bathroom and groaned. "D'n," Sam whispered. "You there?"

"Yeah, Sammy," the teenager sighed, "I'm here. Go back to sleep." 

"Is dad here?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Okay. G'd night."

"Night." 

*

John let the boys sleep in the following morning while he headed out to get breakfast. When he returned, Sam was sat on the couch, still in the old pyjamas he had borrowed from Dean that were clearly too big for him, and sipping a glass or orange juice. "Where's your brother?" John asked.

"He's still in bed," Sam shrugged. 

"Does he usually sleep in this late?"

"No. He's really tired, though."

"So it seems," John sighed. He glanced down at his phone. "Alright, well, breakfast is on the table. You go and wake your brother, now, I need to head off for a little."

"Okay." 

Sam pulled the pillow out from under his brother's head and ignored the string of curse words that he was met with. "Dad told me to," he offered as an excuse.

"I doubt dad told you to wake me like that," huffed Dean.

"It's breakfast time," Sam said, changing the subject.

"Want me to go out for something?" Dean asked, sitting up.

"Dad said it's on the table."

"What is it?"

"No idea." 

Dean opened the carton to reveal that they had chocolate chip pancakes and bacon. Dean grinned. He hastily poured himself a glass of juice, before sitting down and plating the food up for them. "I hope dad isn't expecting any," he muttered, "there doesn't seem to be enough for three." 

"Dean," Sam murmured. Dean stared at him. "Is there any cheerios left?"

"I doubt it, why? There's pancakes."

"I don't like pancakes with chocolate chips, they taste weird."

"Come on, Sammy, don't be a baby. Eat the food."

"No. I don't like it, Dean." 

Sam still hadn't eaten anything when John returned. Dean was clearing up the remnants of his meal and washing their now empty orange juice glasses. "Alright, boys," John said, closing the door behind him, "Bobby called; there's been an emergency so we'll have to check out a day early."

"But _Dad_," Sam whined, "I was supposed to meet my friends at the park today." John raised an eyebrow.

"You've been letting him go out alone?" he asked Dean, who shuffled uncomfortably. "Dean?" John barked.

"A little," Dean replied. 

"How do you intend to watch out for your brother if he's not even here? No, let me guess, you weren't here either, were you?"

"I was sometimes, sir," Dean mumbled. "He-he was getting cabin fever so-so, yeah, I let him go to the library and stuff with his friends."

"Where were you?" 

"Dad, leave him alone," Sam groaned. "I'm not a little kid, I can look after myself."

"Stay out of this, Sam."

"I went out twice," Dean muttered. He was now pale and staring at his hands. "I-I was _usually_ here waiting for him and he always made sure he'd come back before dark; I told him I'd drag him back if he wasn't." 

"Right," John said gruffly. "Now, come on, we need to go."

"Yes, sir," Dean said. He headed to their bedroom and began packing his bag. 

"Sam, you, too," John told him. Sam rolled his eyes. "Hey, kiddo," John called after him after he had walked away. Sam froze. "What was wrong with your breakfast?"

"I don't like chocolate chips."

"Are you sure you don't at least want the bacon?"

"No." 

"You'll be hungry, later." Sam didn't reply. 

*

"Dad, when's food?" Dean asked, once they finally clambered out of the impala and arrived at a motel of John's liking, "I'm _starving_."

"You just ate," John snapped.

"No, I didn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you stop while I was sleeping?" Dean asked, scratching his head as Sam followed John into the motel. 

"No," John replied gruffly. "I gave you lunch to eat on the road."

"Uh... I didn't get lunch, sir." John raised an eyebrow at him. He unlocked the door to their room and let Sam shuffle inside before he clapped Dean on the shoulder.

"This morning I went to the shop, while you were still _in bed_, and bought the pair of you sandwiches, grapes and crackers, which I packed in paper bags and gave them to Sam while we were packing the trunk. Now, are you telling me that Sam didn't give you yours?" 

"I don't remember him doing so," Dean murmured. "I'll check if it's in the back of the car." John nodded. He watched as Dean jogged out of the motel, towards the parking lot. 

"Sam, a word," John snapped. Sam shuffled out of the bedroom and sat on the couch. He raised an eyebrow. "Did you give Dean his lunch?" 

"What?"

"The paper bags of food I gave you, I know you ate yours, did you give Dean his?" 

"I think I've found it," Dean said, as he rushed into the room. John raised an eyebrow. Dean held up a crumpled up paper bag that was obviously empty.

"So you _did_ eat it," John said.

"No. I just found this on the floor. Are you sure you put food in it?" 

"Am I- _do I look like an idiot to you, boy_?" 

"No, sir." 

"Sam, did you give Dean his lunch this morning?" 

"Uh... sort of," Sam replied awkwardly. John raised an eyebrow. "Dean was grumpy that you made him sit in the back, so he ignored me. I just put his food by his feet."

"So, where's my fucking sandwich?" Dean snapped. 

"Dean, there was no need for that," John told him. Dean nodded. "What happened to Dean's food, Sam?"

"Why are you blaming me? This isn't fair!"

"And it's fair that your brother didn't get anything to eat?" 

"No," Sam muttered. 

"Right, you can go and stand in the corner and think about exactly what you want to say," John snarled. Sam nodded and shuffled away as John led Dean back outside. 

Once they'd finished unpacking the car, John drove Dean to the convenience store they had seen as they were driving over. He handed him some money and told him to buy them both some lunch, before he drove back to the motel. 

Sam was still exactly where he was when John left, he was happy to note. He shut the door with a slam so Sam was aware that he was back. He took his coat off and dropped it onto the armchair, before he sat on the arm of the couch. "Alright, Sam, over here, please," he barked. Sam hesitated, before he approached his father. "So, Sam, what happened to Dean's food?" 

"I-I ate it." 

"You ate it?" John repeated slowly. 

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled.

"Why would you do that? Did it not cross your mind that your brother needed to eat too?" 

"I-I was hungry," Sam muttered, "and you refused to stop and-and you said I needed to eat, so I took Dean's crackers."

"So, when your brother was sleeping, you stole his food?" 

"I-I guess." John raised an eyebrow. "Yes, sir."

"What happened to your own food?"

"I ate it earlier," Sam muttered, "I was hungry and I thought that if I ate my food close enough to lunch time, I wouldn't be hungry at lunch, but I was." 

"So, you didn't eat breakfast, ate your lunch as if it was breakfast, and then stole your brother's lunch." 

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled. 

"Go back in the corner," John snapped. Sam nodded and shifted away. 

John strode into the bathroom and splashed his face with water. He tried to calm himself down, but he was really very angry at his youngest. 

Once John had composed himself, he strode back into the living room, where Sam was shaking in the corner. "Come here," he barked, sitting back on the arm of the couch. Sam hesitated again, before he walked towards his father. John gripped his wrist and pulled the boy closer to him. He unbuckled the boy's belt and pulled down his jeans, before pulling his son over his lap. Sam winced before his father even swatted him. 

Sam started crying long before the punishment was over. John decided he wasn't going to make him go through the second half of his punishment bare. He picked up the boy's belt and applied ten quick swats to his rear end. 

"Alright," John said, after Sam had finished sniffling. "Go to the bedroom and lie down." Sam nodded. John ruffled his hair, before the boy walked away. 


	30. Dean & Sam Winchester 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series

"Hurry up and get in the car, boys!" John called. Sam rolled his eyes. It was dark and cold and he had no intention to stay outside longer than necessary, so his father needn't have yelled, but he was too tired to mention this. He finished lacing up his shoes and rushed from the entrance of the gas station to the impala, while his brother strode behind him, apparently in no hurry at all, eating a bag of gummy bears. "Sam, get in, _now_," John barked. Sam frowned.

"Why are you shouting at me?" he groaned. "Dean's not even here yet."

"Never you mind what Dean's doing, just get in the car." 

"Dad, that-"

"Sam," John exasperated, "please just get inside. I don't know where we are and I'd feel a lot better about that if you were safely in the impala, okay?" 

"Alright, alright," Sam grumbled. He threw open the door and slid into the back. However, he didn't buckle himself up, but stared through the two middle seats, out of the windscreen at Dean, who was in no hurry. 

"Dean, get your ass over here!" John shouted. Dean rolled his eyes, but stuck the gummy bears in his pocket and quickened his pace. "Can you make sense of this?" John asked, placing the map on the roof of the car. Dean peered at it. "I mean, for god's sake, this road isn't even on here."

"Your map must be outdated," Dean said. 

"Nonsense, Bobby gave this to me last week."

"But when did Bobby get it?" 

"Alright, smart-ass, what do you propose we do?"

"Get inside and get the heater on," Dean said cockily. "My toes are about to freeze off."

"One more line from you and I'll have you over the trunk, got it?" John snarled.

"Yes, sir." Sam watched his brother hang his head and shook his own. He slid out to the other side of the car and stared at his father.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Never you mind."

"Dad-"

"How far are we, Dad?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, alright, Dean," John huffed. "Now, I'd appreciate some help from you, instead of having you and your brother asking me ten million questions every five minutes!" 

"We're just confused, sir," Dean said weakly. John stared at him and studied Sam, who was staring intently at him.

"Look, I must have taken the wrong exit or something," John sighed, "because I don't know where the hell we are." 

"Why don't we just drive back the way we came?" Dean suggested.

"Alright," John said, yawning.

"Do you want me to drive?"

"I think I can handle it, Dean," John said icily.

"I was just thinking maybe you could work out the map if I drive," Dean murmured. John studied him for a moment and nodded, before he strode around the side of the car and slipped into the passenger's seat. Sam clambered back into the car as Dean sat up front. 

John did not in fact decipher the map, as soon enough he had fallen asleep, his snores filling the impala. Sam watched his brother carefully read every sign they passed, trying to work out where they were going. "Is driving hard?" Sam asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Can you teach me to drive?"

"Maybe when you're older."

"I'm thirteen, that's old enough!"

"No it isn't," Dean told him. 

"Dad let you drive around parking lots when you were twelve!"

"Alright, keep your wig on. I'll talk to dad about it, okay? Now, why don't you have a nap?"

"I'm not tired."

"Right." 

Sam, however, was actually tired, and once he stopped talking, he fell asleep quite easily. When he awoke, John was back in the driver's seat and Dean was finishing off his gummy bears. "Can I have one?" he asked, leaning forward. Dean stared down at the bag, before he handed it to his brother. "Thanks, Dean," Sam said brightly. Dean smiled back at him. 

Before long, John and Dean, with no input from Sam, who was happily munching on the remainder of the gummy bears, located the house that John had rented for the month. They got to work unloading the trunk while Sam inspected the house and chose which room he wanted. "I'll be back as soon as I can, boys," John announced. Dean nodded and got to heating up a tin of beans on the stove. 

*

Dean was tired and grumpy when he returned home from school, so he was caught off guard when he threw open the door to see John staring at him. "Where've you been?" he barked.

"School," Dean replied slowly.

"It's nearly five o'clock!"

"It's barely half four."

"Dean!"

"I was in detention, alright."

"Why were you in detention?"

"I told Sam, okay, he knew I'd be late," Dean snapped. "He-he didn't call you, did he?"

"No, Sam didn't call me. Now, answer the question, why were you in detention?"

"I was caught ditching math."

"Dean, what the hell? What part of 'lay low' don't you understand? Why are you ditching class on your third day?"

"Second."

"What?"

"I was caught ditching yesterday, I was just given detention today."

"Why weren't you in math, Dean?"

"Alright, so, you didn't leave us any money, so I made us sandwiches for lunch and-and Sam left his in the back of the car, so I drove over to the middle school during my lunch break, but they were all still in classes, so I waited for him to come out."

"And you didn't head back to school after that?"

"No, I did, sir," Dean said, "but, there was only twenty five minutes of math left, so I just waited in the car for seventh period history." 

"How did you suppose Sam would get home?"

"Don't blame Dean, Dad," Sam piped up from the kitchen. Dean smirked. 

"Who should I blame, then, huh?"

"You," scoffed Sam. "You should have left us with money so I could buy my own lunch." 

"I've had enough of you today, boy, get upstairs." Dean heard Sam huff and heard the kitchen door close. "You," John rounded on Dean, "how did you think Sam would get home?" 

"He said that this friend of his lived across the road from the school and that his dad would be willing to drive him home. We rang the boy's house this morning and the parents agreed." 

"Alright."

"I-I did tell the vice principal that I needed to pick up my little brother, I offered to do the detention at lunch instead, but she said it was either an hour after school today or three hours on Friday."

"Alright, Dean," John huffed. "Alright. Sam didn't tell me any of this, so I was expecting you here sooner, that's all." Dean watched as his father strode into the kitchen and followed him.

Dean rushed upstairs and dropped his backpack onto the floor of his room. He could see that Sam's door was open, so he crept across the hall and peered at the boy, who was sniffling into his pillow. 

Dean headed back downstairs, where John had made him a cup of coffee. "Thanks," Dean muttered. John nodded and sat at the kitchen table, sipping his own. "How'd the hunt go?" Dean asked. 

"It's like hell, Dean," John sighed. "We thought we were just dealing with some changelings, but now two women in their early twenties have gone too and changelings only go for kids."

"Oh. What are you back for, then? More ammo?" he asked, trying to disguise the hope in his voice that his father had come to get him to be back-up.

"I'm back because I got a call from the local police telling me that my twelve year old had tried to steal a science kit from the store."

"What?" Dean inquired. That was definitely not what he was expecting. 

"Sam and his friend decided they wanted some science kit and, since they couldn't afford it, his friend just tried to run out holding it." 

"Why did Sam get in trouble for this if he didn't take it?"

"He wanted to," John sighed, "but the police were more concerned that neither of them seemed apologetic." He swore as he glanced at his phone. "Bobby and Martin need help," he announced. "I have to go, kid, I'm sorry. Leave him upstairs for a bit and deal with him for me, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Dean, you bloody well know what I mean," John snapped. "You have my cell, call me once you've sorted him out." Dean nodded dumbly and sipped his coffee while he watched John throw the remainder of his down the sink and rush out of the house. Dean turned to leave the room and, once he pulled out the kitchen door, saw Sam sat on the stairs.

"You're not supposed to be there," he said coldly.

"So?"

"Go back to your room."

"Are you going to make me?"

"Are _you_ going to make _me_?"

"You couldn't do anything," Sam scoffed. Dean rolled his eyes. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, placed the mug on the counter, and gripped a handful of Sam's shaggy hair. He pulled the boy upstairs, ignoring the "ow, _ow_, ow, Dean, stop!" that he elicited and tugged the boy into his room. "I'm sorry," Sam murmured.

"No, continue, you're only making to worse for yourself."

"You're not _really_ going to spank me, are you? I mean, you're my brother-"

"So? You think I can't do it?"

"No, no, I-I just meant why-why would you want to?"

"Why would you want to steal a fucking science kit anyway?"

"We were doing this experiment in school and Todd wanted to recreate it, but we didn't have the materials, so we-we wanted to use them," Sam mumbled, "we were going to return them tomorrow, but we-we got caught."

"You're an idiot, Sammy."

"Hey, you've stolen stuff too!"

"Yeah, I have, I stole food so your ungrateful stomach wouldn't starve! This is just stupid." 

"Sorry."

"I don't want to hear it," Dean snapped, "just, do some fucking homework or something, I need a shower."

"Okay, Dean."

"Don't leave this room," Dean demanded, before he slammed the door. 

Dean took a shower and buttered himself a slice of toast. He didn't hear Sam's door open, so he assumed that the boy was still in his room. Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, unable to stomach his food despite having skipped lunch. 

Dean marched back upstairs and threw his jacket back onto his bed. He knocked Sam’s door and heard his brother grunt in response. Dean pushed the door open and stared down at Sam, who was sat at his desk, flicking through a book. “Have you finished your homework?” Dean asked him. 

“I’ll do it later,” Sam mumbled. 

“I asked you to do your fucking homework, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah.”

”And yet you didn’t. Are you trying to make things worse for yourself?”

”Come on, Dean,” Sam groaned. “You don’t have to do this; you can just tell dad that you did.”

”Why would I do that?”

”Cos, you’re my friend?” Sam said hopefully. 

“Sam, today you did not come straight home like you promised but stole an unnecessary science kit, more or less called me a common thief, argued with Dad and now you’ve tried to convince me to lie to dad.” 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I am. I-I’ll do my geography now, I promise.”

”That hardly makes up for it.” 

“I didn’t mean to call you a thief, Dean, I just didn’t want-“

”I don’t care, Sam.”

”And I only argued with dad because he was mad at you for being in detention! I wasn’t looking for a fight.”

”It wasn’t your conversation.” 

“I’m sorry.”

”I don’t care, get up.” 

“_Dean_.” 

“Now, Sam.” Dean strode to sit on the foot of the bed. Sam stared at him, his eyes wide. “You’re not getting out of this,” Dean said, although he was not entirely sure what he was going to do. Sam huffed and approached the bed. Dean gripped his wrist and pulled the smaller boy over his lap. Dean slapped the boy’s rear quickly, ignoring Sam’s puffs of indignation. 

Dean gave up after Sam started sobbing. He ruffled Sam’s hair and helped the boy lay on the bed. “I’m going to heat some food up for you,” Dean told him. “I want that geography done soon.” Sam sniffed and nodded. “Love you, Sammy,” Dean murmured as he left. 


	31. Tony Stark & Peter Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor by mentor  
Set around the time of homecoming

He didn't want to do it. Peter was a bubbly boy who was usually filled with excitement, eager to assist in whatever he was doing, but his eyes were filled with shame rather than awe and his coffee machine lay in pieces on the ground. The counter was scorched with burn marks from Peter's failed clean-up operation and the tiled floor had been chipped. Peter was stood in the corner, his eyes wide, studying his movements as he inspected the damage and Tony knew that he had to step up. 

He sent Peter to the corner of the living room while he collected the remnants of his one-of-a-kind coffee machine and dumped them in the trash can in his garage. As he journeyed around the house, Peter didn't move, other than the odd shaky breath when he heard Tony pass him. 

Once he had finished clean-up duty, Tony threw off the jacket and tie he had not yet changed out of when returning from his conference and crossed his arms over his chest as he inspected Peter. The boy's shoulders were slumped in defeat and he was resting his forehead against the wall. "You're lucky Pepper likes tea more than coffee or you'd _really _be in for it," Tony chuckled as he approached the teen. Peter jumped at the sound of his voice, but calmed at his words. Tony wondered whether or not that was the right approach, but based on Peter's reaction, he supposed it must have been. "Is there any point asking what happened?" Tony sighed.

"I-It was an accident, Mr Stark, hon-honest," Peter stammered. 

"You accidentally blew up the coffee machine?"

"No-no. I-I got bored waiting for you to come back so-so I thought I'd test out some kinks with my webslingers and-and it went wrong. I-I tried to get FRIDAY to help me, but her advice wasn't very helpful."

"So it's FRIDAY's fault?"

"No, no, no. I-I didn't mean it like that."

"Relax, kid," Tony sighed. He checked the notification on his watch and found that Pepper was five minutes away. "You go down to my workshop and I'll meet you there." Peter nodded and skulked away, while Tony poured himself a glass of water and groaned. 

Peter was stiff and in the corner of the room when Tony arrived. He crossed the room and placed his hand on the small of Peter's back, not wanting to alarm him but probably bringing less comfort than he had hoped. "Over the workbench, Peter," Tony barked. Peter scowled. He knew what to do, they had done this once before, but he was reluctant to comply nonetheless. 

"Please, Mr Stark," Peter muttered. "Surely I-I can make it up to you some other way."

"Now, Peter," Tony droned, disinterested in Peter's negotiations. 

"I-I could get a job, yeah I'd get a job with Delmar and pay you back."

"Not how this works, kid," Tony said through gritted teeth. "Drop your jeans and over the workbench." Peter groaned.

"Is there nothing else we can do?"

"If you're dead set against this," Tony sighed as Peter raised an eyebrow, "I could call May, y'know, if you don't want me doing it." Peter shook his head firmly; the last thing he wanted was for May to know he had been so reckless. He offered Tony one more pleading look, before biting the bullet and unbuckling his belt. He slid his jeans down to his knees and leant over the cluttered workbench, his hands gripping the edge as Tony retrieved his belt from the floor.

"Please don't," Peter said quickly. "I-I'm sorry." Tony studied the boy and shook his head sadly, but discarded the belt onto the bench beside his pale knuckles. Peter relaxed slightly, but tensed again as Tony administered the first blow. 

It only took six blows for Peter to be crying, eight for him to be begging for forgiveness and twenty for him to be outright sobbing onto the wooden surface below him. He buried his face into his own t-shirt as Tony went to pull down his underwear. "No, no, no, NO!" he begged. "Please!" Tony shook his head. He knew the guilt was likely overwhelming for him, but the boy had a much higher pain tolerance than he did and could more than deal with what he was going to dole out. Tony pulled down his briefs and administered the second half of his punishment. 

The forty slaps left Peter's rear a deep red. Tony was almost proud of his handy work as he inspected the boy's rump, before he collected the discarded belt. He heard Peter sob incoherent nonsense, but his mind was made up. He held Peter in place as he applied ten solid whacks to the boy's punished behind, before dropping his weapon and ruffling the boy's hair. 

Peter sobbed into his own elbow for a few moments before he registered that his punishment was over. He got up and re-arranged his briefs, before burying his head in Tony's neck. Tony held the boy's thin waist and allowed him to compose himself, before speaking. "Are you alright?" he asked. His voice was kind, softer than it usually was, but that just made Peter feel worse. Tony smiled at him. Peter shrugged. The shame overwhelmed him and his cheeks flushed crimson as Tony handed him his thin, leather belt. "Do you want me to get you some sweatpants from my room?" Tony offered. "If May asks, tell her you got oil on the jeans or something." Peter smiled, but shook his head. "Suit yourself," Tony shrugged as the boy rearranged his jeans. "Do you want some hot chocolate?" Tony offered. 

"I-I'd better be going," Peter muttered, glancing at his watch. Tony nodded knowingly.

"Wait here, I'll get Happy to drive you."

"No, Mr Stark, it-it's fine-"

"I won't tell him why, relax, but you don't need to be walking across New York, do you?" Tony chuckled. Peter nodded and accepted the pat on the back, before the man hurried upstairs to retrieve his friend.


	32. Remus Lupin & Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spanking of a minor  
Prisoner of Azkaban AU

Harry would have thought that being caught by Snape would've been the worst part of the night, but listening to Lupin lecturing him was even worse. He felt his insides squirm with pure guilt as Lupin raved on about his parents and his own recklessness in the face of danger. "After all Dumbledore has put in place," Lupin growl, "you take it upon yourself to defy every rule and do as you please with a murderer on the lose." Harry bowed his head and stared at his slippers. "How could you be so _stupid_? This isn't like you." Harry could feel Lupin's eyes burning into his shame-faced, rosy cheeks and bit his bottom lip. Lupin shook his head and dropped the map onto his desk. He pressed his wand to it and muttered something, before he crossed his arms and strode closer to his abashed pupil. "What was so important that it couldn't have waited until morning?" he asked stiffly. Harry did not reply. "So, nothing? You were just out for a night time jaunt for the sake of it? What?" Harry remained silent. Lupin huffed. "You know, back in my day, Flich would try to lock us in shackles for offences like this," he laughed humorlessly. Harry gulped, not liking where this was going. "Of course, McGonagall would stop him most of the time, but there were a few occasions where he'd get away with it."

"Oh."

"I remember one night your father and some friends were caught trying to steal food from the kitchens and the three of them were locked up for hours."

"Oh." Harry didn't really know how to respond, but he knew he didn't want Lupin to get Filch involved. 

"Naturally, James _hated _it. When he became head boy a few years later he'd do whatever he could to prevent younger students from meeting the same fate."

"That's nice of him." 

"Yes, he was good at that, Head Boy that is, other students respected him for it, too."

"Was-was it common to be locked in shackles for stealing food?"

"I don't know, Harry, but I know that if you would've done this when I was a pupil, Filch would've dragged you to his office by the ear and left you there until morning," Lupin said with a twisted smile, almost nostalgic, as Harry tensed. "I can't do that to you now, obviously, but some corporal punishment can apply." Harry gulped. His only knowledge of corporal punishment was Dudley and his smeltings stick, not that he wanted to remember that. "Come here, Harry," Lupin said sternly. Harry found himself striding towards Lupin although he felt like his legs had a mind of their own. Lupin bent Harry over his desk and collected a seemingly normal, Muggle ruler from one of his draws. Harry didn't like where this was going and felt all of the colour draining from his face. 

Lupin wasted no time in removing Harry's pyjama trousers and applying ten hard whacks of the ruler to his rear. Harry jolted at the force and bit into his bottom lip so hard that it bled. Lupin tutted and brought the ruler down again. "You. Cannot. Do. This. Again," Lupin lectured, punctuating each word with a flick of the ruler. Harry nodded and attempted to wipe tears from his eyes as Lupin brought the ruler down again. The man took a minute to admire his handy work, before readjusting the boy's trousers. "Go to bed," Lupin said sternly. "And if I, or snape or anyone, catch you wandering the halls again you'll regret it."

"Are-are you going to report me to McGonagall?" Harry wondered.

"That's what you're worried about?" 

"One-one of the things, sir," Harry muttered, his head bowed.

"No, Harry, I won't report you," Lupin said softly. "Just don't do this again." Harry nodded and scuttled out of the classroom, eager to get back to Gryffindor Tower as quickly as possible. 


	33. Dean Winchester & Ben Braeden 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Set between seasons 5 and 6

Ben Braeden had always been slightly afraid of the dark. He thought it might be a fear his grandparents had instilled in him based on faint, faded memories of fear of their basement, but it was nothing that the young teenager was going to admit to. However, he did have his reservations when his friends suggested hiking to the supposedly haunted house in the middle of the night. He had thought that the plan was simple; unlock the window so he could clamber back up, sneak out of the house, inspect the haunted house for a bit and rush home, but they got cocky. Trey, a tall boy with dark dreadlocks, decided that they should try and enter the house instead of just knocking the door and hiding as Gus had suggested. Ben, eager to impress, agreed to follow him inside. They saw police tape covering the front door, so they hopped over the fence to the unkempt backyard and raced in through the back. 

Ben sat in a plastic chair at the police station, waiting for his mother to arrive. He felt sick to his stomach with guilt and fear as Trey inhaled sharply upon the arrival of his father. Ben was surprised, but slightly relieved to see Dean in place of Lisa, although he did wonder how annoyed she must have been to send him instead. Dean looked comically small beside Trey's father as he waited beside the desk for a policewoman to talk to him. 

After a lecture from the policeman about trespassing and a warning that he wouldn't be so lenient next time, Ben silently trailed after Dean towards the car. He could hear trey's heavy footsteps behind him, but daren't turn around. Dean opened his door for him, so Ben clambered inside and held his breath, constantly waiting for the lecture to start. 

The lecture never came and they drove home in utter silence. Ben puzzled what to make of this as the car swung left, into the driveway. However, Dean made no indication of getting out of the car. "Uh... Dean?" Ben muttered weakly. Dean puffed. 

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" he groaned. Ben sighed. "You're not a dumb kid, Ben, but a stunt like that can get you in serious trouble." Ben nodded. "Why would you even _think_ of doing something like this?" Ben didn't know how to reply. "It's not a good look, kiddo."

"Sorry," Ben said quickly. Dean yawned and shook his head. 

"I'm sure you are, bud."

"Any chance we can talk about this in the morning?" Ben questioned hopefully.

"Alright," Dean sighed. "I'm basically dead on my feet, too, so go to bed and I'll speak to you tomorrow." Ben nodded. He let Dean ruffle his hair before they clambered out of the vehicle and headed up the porch, to the house

*

Ben woke in the morning with a bee in his bonnet. He could hear movement in the kitchen downstairs accompanied by Dean's whistling, so he pulled a towel from his closet and crossed the landing to the bathroom. He had decided that he was going to avoid Dean and his mother for as long as humanely possible, which was going alright until Dean banged his fist on the door. "Breakfast, kid," he called. Ben flicked on the shower. 

"I'm preoccupied right now," he called through the door. Dean groaned. 

"Well, hurry up or else your bacon will get cold."

"I'm not really hungry," Ben replied. Dean chuckled knowingly.

"Believe me, it's better if you eat something," he told him. Ben scrunched his nose and shook his head. "Hurry up, yeah bud?"

"Alright," Ben said, although he had no intention of doing so.

Ben wasted almost an hour in the shower, lathering himself in orange scented shampoo. He could hear Dean muttering at one point, but the water was too loud for him to work out exactly what was said. Ben didn't mind too much, but once his hands started becoming more prune-like than human, he whipped his blue towel around his waist and trudged back to his room. 

Ben was drying his hair in the mirror when there was a knock at the door. "Ben?" he heard his mother call. Ben rolled his eyes.

"Uh... I'm changing," Ben replied, grabbing a shirt from the floor. Lisa huffed.

"I need to go to work," Lisa said. Judging by her tone, Ben could tell that she was still annoyed. "Be good for Dean and make sure you _eat something_." 

"Alright, alright."

"And not just chips, either. I'm sure Dean will make you more bacon and eggs if you ask."

"Okay, okay," Ben muttered as he threw on a pair of jeans. 

Ben was still yet to leave his room half an hour later when there was a knock at the door again. Ben dropped the comic he was holding and stared at the handle. "Ben?" Dean questioned gruffly. "You there?"

"I'm changing," Ben called.

"Really, I thought you had gotten dressed ages ago?"

"I- I got distracted on my phone," Ben lied. Ben could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes. "Don't come in to check," he added. Dean chuckled. 

"Come downstairs once you've dressed, alright? I need to talk to you."

"You're talking to me now," Ben muttered. 

"You know what I mean, kiddo."

"Can't you just lecture me through the door? Forget that I'm not wearing any trousers?" 

"You're a weird kid," Dean said, before retreating. 

Ben did not make any effort in co-operating with Dean. He had no intention of rushing downstairs. Once he heard Dean's footsteps heading upstairs, he crossed the floor to the bathroom and locked himself in. "Ben?" he heard Dean call as he approached his room. Ben couldn't suppress a smirk. "Ben?" he heard Dean repeat. Unfortunately for him, Dean's next port of call was to bang on the bathroom door.

"I-I'm in here," Ben called out. He heard Dean let out a sigh of relief. 

"You were supposed to be downstairs ages ago," Dean said sternly.

"Oh, sorry, I got distracted and must have forgotten."

"Distracted?"

"Gus texted me."

"Your phone's on your bed, Ben."

"I didn't say I had it with me, Dean," Ben chuckled nervously. Dean scoffed. 

After a few moments of silence, Ben flushed the chain and plodded out of the bathroom, hoping to flee to his bedroom again, only to find Dean leaving his mother's room. Ben nodded at him, unsure how to proceed as Dean approached. His face bore a comforting smile and he reached out to ruffle Ben's hair. Ben froze as his fingertips brushed his scalp and groaned. "Do you want to eat first?" Dean asked. Ben shook his head. "Your mother agrees that you should eat something. I know you're tired so you're not likely to be very hungry, but you need something in you." Ben shrugged. "Come on, then," Dean said. He strode past Ben to wander down the stairs.

"Can I get some socks first?" Ben asked. Dean raised an eyebrow. "What? The kitchen floor is always cold." 

"Alright, but hurry," Dean demanded. Ben nodded. He knew that there was no way that Dean would not wait on the staircase for him, but he bought time loudly rummaging through draws and pulling his striped socks onto his feet. 

Dean slung an arm over his shoulder once he reached the foot of the staircase and gently steered him into the kitchen. He offered him a mug of coffee, but Ben declined. Dean gestured for him to hop onto one of the stools while he poured himself a cup. "I don't need to tell you that what you pulled last night was a very serious mistake, do I?" Dean began the lecture. Ben shook his head. "We were terrified. You can't just sneak out like that, it's idiotic and dangerous and you're not an idiot kid." He paused to gulp down some of his coffee. "What the hell were you thinking?" Ben remained silent, before realising that it was not a rhetorical question.

"Oh, um... kids at school said the house was haunted, so we wanted to prove to Gus that it wasn't," he replied softly. "We didn't plan on going in, just knocking the door and proving that there were no ghosts in the windows, but Trey thought we could only prove it wasn't haunted if we went in."

"So you broke into the house?"

"The door was unlocked!"

"You broke into the garden, then?"

"We didn't break the fence, just jumped over it."

"And it didn't cross your mind that that wasn't something that you should be doing?"

"I-I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly," Dean said dryly. "And why at three in the morning? Why not go ghost hunting at a more reasonable hour?"

"It wasn't ghost hunting, there weren't any ghosts, but that was when Gus and Trey decided."

"You didn't have to go too," Dean murmured. Ben hung his head. "I once went with my friends on a bus to New York to go to a gig," Dean chuckled. "To say that my dad was pissed would be an understatement." 

"I'm not that bad," Ben muttered. Dean laughed and finished his coffee. 

"Come on, kiddo, living room," he said sternly. Ben remained frozen in place. He couldn't get his legs to move, no matter how hard he tried. Dean shook his head and raised an eyebrow at the boy, who felt life come into his muscles as he trailed after the man. 

Dean didn't waste any time in getting Ben's jeans down and the boy over the arm of the couch. He brought a few quick smacks against the boy's boxers, before removing them. Ben grunted in protest. "Sorry kid, but you brought this on yourself," Dean said sadly.

"Please, Dean-" Ben argued.

"You should have thought about this when you were trespassing onto a crime scene."

"We didn't know it was a crime scene," Ben said heatedly.

"Didn't the police tape serve as an indicator?"

"We-we didn't think about that," Ben murmured. Dean shook his head. "Look, Dean, Mom-" Ben was going to tell him that his mother had never whooped him bare before, but Dean didn't give him the chance.

"Do you think I'd be doing this without her say-so?" Dean asked softly. "Come on, kid."

"Mom let you do it bare?" Ben asked quietly. Dean rubbed the boy's back. 

"Let's get it over with," he told him. Ben bit his lip as Dean began to apply smacks to all areas of pale skin until it was an angry crimson. Dean tutted. "Ten more, kiddo," Dean muttered. He recalled when he was in that position that having a number to work towards was easier; allowed your mind to stray to other things and let you knew when it would be over. 

Once Dean landed the final blow, he helped the boy rearrange his clothes and wrapped him in a tight hug. He lightly kissed the side of the boy's head and held him as he shook for a few moments. Ben sniffled as he composed himself, not sure what to say as Dean released him. Dean flung his arm around the boy's shoulders and steered him into the kitchen. "What do you want to eat?" he asked. Ben shrugged glumly. Dean almost laughed at his miserable expression, but decided against it. "Mac and cheese?" he suggested. "I make a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich, y'know. What about if I whip us up more eggs and bacon? I ate yours." Ben shook his head. "You need to eat. Grilled cheese? Sausage?"

"Grilled cheese," Ben mumbled. Dean nodded.

"Coming right up," he said, before he got to work. 

"You know," he muttered as he plated up Ben's sandwich. The boy stared sadly at the wooden stools. "My old man would've made me eat standing up, not that I reckon he'd have fed me if I got myself arrested, but I'm feeling kind, so why don't we go and eat in the living room?" Ben grinned and followed him to the couch. He flung himself down and rested his head on the arm as Dean turned on the TV. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure your friends are getting the same treatment," he said. Ben snorted.

"Gus' parents practically reward him for screwing up."

"Huh?"

"Whenever he gets in trouble in school his dad buys him a ton of candy to make him feel better."

"Well, at least you know you're being raised better than that," Dean smiled. Ben rolled his eyes. "Just so you're aware, I'm pretty sure your mom is going to be handing out a _serious_ grounding later." Ben groaned. 


	34. Oliver Queen and William Clayton 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains parental spanking of a minor

William wanted to go to the mall. It was a normal request for a boy his age, but Felicity wasn't keen on letting him out on a Friday night while Oliver was with Diggle. William was sulking on the couch when he received a text from Eva, one of his friends, telling him that she was nearing his building. "Shit," he muttered. In his fury at his step-mother, which he had taken out on the couch cushion, he had neglected to tell his friends that he was not allowed to go. He would feel like such an idiot telling her now. 

"Hey, Felicity?" William called. Felicity shuffled out of her bedroom with half of her hair in curlers and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm sorry," William muttered. Felicity chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"It's alright," she sighed. "You were disappointed and we all say things we don't mean in the heat of the moment." William nodded. "Just, maybe don't use that language around your dad too much," Felicity added as an afterthought. "I doubt he'd approve." William nodded.

"Do you mind if I run to the library? I was supposed to return two of my geology books yesterday and it completely slipped my mind." 

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Well, I was hoping to tell Mrs. Jones that I'd just forgotten and hopefully avoid a fine, but if I'm two days late she's less likely to believe me and I don't want to pay a fine."

"Oh, okay then," sighed Felicity, "but hurry back, yeah?" William nodded.

He heard Felicity's door slam as he rushed to his room. He forced his phone into his trouser pocket, before throwing on a pair of sneakers and shoving two random books into his backpack. He padded out of his room as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and thought of the mall again. William cursed inwardly when he realised that he didn't have any money on him. He looked around and noticed Felicity's open handbag on the table. With less hesitation than he would have liked to admit, William snatched a few ten dollar bills from her purse inside and fled out of the door. 

William didn't know how long he'd be out for, but he didn't expect to be gone for as long as he was. He and Eva met another pair of their friends at the mall and wandered around for hours, however, after clothes shopping and food, one of the girls pulled them into the bowling alley. William was disgruntled when his team lost, but Kate demanded a re-match, which he was more than happy to oblige to. 

It was dark when William returned home. He snapped the door shut behind him and attempted to softly walk to his bedroom, but he found his door open and frowned. He dropped his rucksack on the floor with a thud and shut the door behind him. He changed into his pyjamas and padded towards the bathroom as he saw the front door fly open. William raised an eyebrow as he saw his father approach him. "You-you're here?" Oliver said hurriedly. William nodded. Oliver was still clad in the leather pants, although he had a v-neck sweater on, and narrowed his eyes. 

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Felicity said you took off."

"I went to drop some books off-"

"I'm not playing games, William," growled Oliver. William fell silent. "You left with Felicity's money, your phone and your backpack."

"So?"

"She thought you'd ran away."

"Oh."

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" Oliver questioned. 

"I-I wanted to go out with my friends," William whispered.

"Felicity already told you not to."

"I know but I forgot to tell my friends and they came here and I felt bad."

"Oh, but stealing from Felicity and vanishing for five hours was fine?"

"I felt a little bad," William mumbled.

"What?"

"I felt a little bad be-before I left. I didn't realise how long I'd be out for." 

"Go to your room, William," Oliver barked. William nodded.

William was sat on his bed, his eyes on a comic book, when Oliver barged through the door. William raised an eyebrow at him. Oliver had changed out of his leather pants now and was scowling at him. William bit his lip as his father shut the door and raised an eyebrow. "Do you have anything to say?" Oliver asked. William shook his head in defeat. Oliver sat beside him. "Just to ensure I've got this right you were invited out with some friends, were told you can't go for _your_ safety, blew Felicity's head off for it-"

"It wasn't my safety," huffed William.

"What was it then?" Oliver spat.

"So Felicity wouldn't worry, there's a difference."

"Yeah?"

"One's caring about me, one's self preservation. She needs to work on her own anxiety instead of projecting it onto me. It's not my fault you're out gallivanting in dangerous situations every other night, so why should I have to pay the price?"

"Are you done?" Oliver asked. 

"Why do you always tell me things are for my safety anyway?" William snarled. He was pacing up and down the room now, his hands clenched into fists. "Nothing ever is! It's all so you can have one less thing to contemplate because you want to think about other things that aren't me. Not that I'm stopping you, you're the ones with an issue, I just want to be a normal kid. Not that you'd know anything about what normal fucking is." 

"Are you done now?" Oliver inquired darkly. William fell silent and stared at the baseball poster on his wall. "You know, I longed for my parents to show me the affection Felicity shows you."

"I'm not you," William grumbled.

"I know you're not. My point is, most people would feel grateful that they have someone who loves them so much that they spend time worrying for their safety, but you don't see that, do you? Felicity isn't driving herself mad over you to ruin your life, but she cares about you and we-we see things and hear about things that most people don't and-and it makes you think the worst."

"Don't project your paranoia onto my life."

"If I'm out with John, you listen to Felicity," Oliver barked. "That's it. Whether you like her reasoning or not, she's in charge. Maybe you're too angry to see right now that she doesn't want you out, unsupervised in the town at fourteen because she loves you, or maybe you're too young, but the point is you were supposed to stay in the apartment."

"I can look after myself."

"Look, Will, when I was your age, my parents were off 'gallivanting' at parties and on holidays without me or my sister. That hurt. When I go out I'm doing it for a purpose, kid, not to make your life harder." 

"Right."

"Felicity didn't want you to go out because she loves you and, _yes_ she was worrying about me and she didn't want to worry about both of us being hurt, but that's just because she _cares, _Will," Oliver said stiffly. "You, however, decided to take it upon yourself to supposedly mislead her- no, _deceive_ her. You then take her money, completely ignore her calls and basically vanish for the evening. Did I miss anything?" 

"I was being a normal kid, dad, you don't need to make it sound so bad."

"You were not being a normal kid, Will, you were being spoiled and selfish."

"Says you," William huffed. Oliver shook his head. 

Oliver took a moment to compose himself from William's outburst, before he grabbed his son by the waistband and lowered him over the foot of the bed. Oliver scooped his discarded belt from the clothes William had left on the floor and lowered the boy's trousers. "Please don't," William muttered. Oliver sighed.

"Will, you know the drill."

"But I-I'm not wearing underwear."

"It doesn't matter," Oliver told him. William groaned.

William jolted forward after the first smack of the belt, so Oliver pressed his hand to the small of his back to keep him in place. Oliver rolled his wrist, before applying the second blow. William almost forced himself over the foot of the bed again, but Oliver's grip was too strong. William closed his eyes as the third blow hit his skin. 

William felt tears pooling out of his eyes when Oliver finally finished the strikes that were raining onto his rear. William attempted to dry his eyes with the corner of his sleeve, but Oliver moved his hands so he could brush his hand through William's hair and kissed his forehead. "Go to bed," Oliver told him. William nodded. "And apologise to Felicity in the morning, yes?" William nodded again. "Night, buddy, love you," Oliver muttered, before he left the room. 


	35. Tony Stark & Peter Parker & Ned Leeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.  
Set post-homecoming

To say that Peter and Ned were enthusiastic when Tony invited them to his lab would be an understatement. They spent most of the day in school murmuring to one another about the wonders that Tony Stark might show them that afternoon. They raced out of their Spanish class after the final bell and speedily to their lockers, where they kept Ned's box of tools, before racing out of the school. 

Peter spotted Happy's car parked opposite the school, next to the bus. He didn't really want to walk past Flash to get to the vehicle, he knew that Happy would not be impressed if they waited for the bus to leave. He pondered about heading back to the school, but he saw Happy stick his head out of the window and urge them towards him, so Peter tailed Ned across the road. He nodded at MJ, who seemed confused to why they were not joining her on the bus, and around the car Flash's parents had sent for him. "Alright, penis Parker?" Flash chortled. Ned scoffed and rolled his eyes. Peter narrowed his eyes, aware that he could do some serious damage if he threw Flash into the wall behind them, but didn't want to waste any more time thinking about that and padded to the back of Happy's car. 

Tony was not yet home by the time that Happy had escorted Peter and Ned to the compound. "He's at a meeting with Ross," Pepper told them, once they had arrived at their floor. "He shouldn't be too long." Happy nodded and showed himself out, while Pepper hurried up the stairs. 

Peter and Ned sat idly in the living room until they saw the doors of the elevator open, revealing Tony Stark. Ned's eyes widened as he opened his mouth to greet him, but no sound came out. Tony took one look at the pair and groaned. "Sorry, kids," he said. "I completely forgot. How's school?"

"Alright," Peter shrugged. 

"Sch-school's good," Ned said, unable to make eye contact with the man. Tony nodded and rubbed his hands together. 

"Okay, so I'll get you started now and then-then we'll see what we've got left," Tony muttered, more to himself than to his guests. Peter glanced at Ned before following the billionaire downstairs to his workshop. 

Peter had been down to the workshop before, but only ever to watch or help Tony retrieve something, so he was as excited as Ned was that they'd get to help Tony work on something. He watched in awe as Tony and FRIDAY pulled up the blue-prints for Peter's new suit. "You can play around with this, if you want," Tony told them. "I need to make a call but then I'll be right back."

"Okay," Ned said brightly. "No problem, Mr Stark."

"If you need coffee, there's a coffee machine over there by the cars, and FRIDAY can help you with anything else that you need," Tony said. Peter and Ned nodded, before they watched Tony head upstairs again.

"This is so cool," Ned said as he studied the holographic projection in front of them. 

"Yeah," Peter said. He inspected the designs for his next web-shooters and found himself amazed by everything Tony had set up. 

"Do you think he'd mind if we looked around?" Ned wondered.

"I don't think so," Peter muttered. Ned beamed. He tore his eyes away from the workbench and crossed the room to where Tony kept three of his expensive, vintage cars. Peter opened the file on his AI and began to inspect the protocols as he heard a thud. He spun around and exhaled sharply when he realised that Ned had simply dropped a wrench onto the floor. 

"Hey, Peter, come and look at this," Ned called a little while later. Curious, Peter saved the file and jogged across the workshop to find Ned staring face to face with a glass case that held three prototypes of the iron man suit. Peter widened his eyes. Of course, he had seen the iron man suit before, but the marvel never went away. "They're so cool," Ned said. Peter nodded in agreement. 

"Totally."

"Do you think it'd fit me?"

"What?" Peter puzzled.

"We managed to get your suit to fit me, right? Do you think the armour could or is it just for Mr Stark?"

"I don't know," Peter murmured. "I've never asked." Ned shrugged. He was happy to see that the key was still in the lock, so he turned it and threw open the doors. 

"This is awesome," Ned said, inspecting the gauntlet. 

Peter was as eager as Ned was to test out the mechanics of the suit. They started by using the gauntlets to fire at various targets across the room, hitting empty cans of paint and stained coffee mugs onto the floor with a clatter. Ned, being a great lover of physics, wanted to see if the boosters could actually make them fly, and Peter was too invested at that point to refuse. He helped Ned clamber into the boots and watched as he attempted to stabilize himself. Unfortunately, he didn't fly very far and the right boot fell off, landing straight into the car door of the _Chevrolet_. Peter gasped. "We can fix that, right?" Ned asked quickly. Peter nodded. Ned removed his gauntlet and the second boot and placed them back into the case. "I-I'll go and get that," Ned said awkwardly, indicating at the broken armour. Peter nodded and inspected the workbench, hoping to find something that they could use to mask the dent. "There we go," Ned said. He placed the broken pieces of the boot back into the case in such a way that they didn't look out of place. "All done." 

"Mr Stark is going to kill us," Peter muttered.

"He'll never know, right?" Ned said. 

"He has to have security cameras here, he has them everywhere," Peter said miserably. 

"But as long as he doesn't have a reason to check them, we should be fine."

"What, and if we leave with the big dent in the car he won't wonder how that happened and ask FRIDAY for the footage?"

"Can we get FRIDAY to delete the footage?"

"She doesn't obey us."

"We could try."

"You're insane!" Peter cried. As he raised his arms in bewilderment, the gauntlet shot a bolt right at the window, smashing it and bouncing back at the wall. They ducked. "Shit." 

"Gimme that," Ned said as he tried to force the gauntlet from Peter's hand. Peter tried to pull out of his grip, but only succeeded in making it worse. He gave up and let Ned have the gauntlet, which he threw up in the air, hoping to catch it and show off, but ended up dropping it. He groaned as he sore the thumb break and the circuits sizzle. "How're you going to fight crime in this?" he chuckled nervously.

"They're prototypes, not ready for use yet," Peter murmured. 

"Do you think if we go now we'll survive?" Ned questioned. 

"And have him kill us later?"

"We could run away, move to Mexico or something."

"He has connections, I'm sure he'll find us," groaned Peter. "This conversation is incriminating enough." Ned groaned.

"FRIDAY?" he asked loudly.

"Yes?" FRIDAY replied.

"If we were to conduct some-some tests," Peter began. Ned grinned. "Could you delete the footage?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"So we-we didn't clog up Mr Stark's storage."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind, Peter," FRIDAY told him. 

"It-it would be rude," Ned added. Peter nodded. 

"Could you just delete everything from the past, say, ten minutes?" Peter asked. 

"On all cameras?"

"Yeah."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Peter; you didn't set the test cameras up. I could always call Mr Stark if you're too worried -"

"It's fine," Peter said quickly. "Thanks, FRIDAY." Ned groaned. 

"We should go, right?" he asked. Peter shrugged.

"Should- should we tell Mr Stark that we've had a bit of a mishap?"

"Could we paint over it?" Ned asked, nodding at the paint in the corner of the room.

"The window's still gone."

"Shit. How bad is it?" 

"I dunno. I don't think I can bare to check."

"Okay, I will."

Ned was peering out of the window at the shards of glass below when they heard the door fly open. Peter's first instinct was to duck behind the table as he heard Tony curse. "What happened?" he asked hurriedly, racing over to Ned. He glanced around the room. "Where's Peter?" 

"I-I dunno," Ned mumbled. Tony glowered at him.

"What the hell is going on?" he spat. 

"We-we had a bit of a-a mishap," Ned murmured nervously. Tony shook his head and moaned when he saw the damage to his car. 

"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN DOING DOWN HERE? AND WHERE'S PETER?"

"It-it was an accident," Ned said weakly. Tony shook his head. He narrowed his eyes when he saw the glass doors still ajar. 

"Did you go in there?" he asked sharply. Ned shook his head. "Did Peter?" Ned shook his head again. Tony crossed the room. Peter held his breath as his feet past where he was crouched as watched as Tony inspected the case. "How did this get open then?"

"Sorry."

"So you _did_ go in there?"

"Sorry." 

"This stuff is dangerous, kid, you could have been seriously injured," puffed Tony. "I mean, what the _fuck_ were you thinking? I said you could work on Spider-Man's suit designs and have coffee, not fuck about with whatever you could find." He locked the case and slid the key into the pocket of his waistcoat. Ned hung his head. 

"We're-we're sorry, Mr Stark," he said. Peter tried to force himself not to exhale loudly as Tony strode around the table. He crawled silently, so he was hid underneath the workbench and stared as Ned's feet retreated. Unfortunately, Ned dropped his phone, and when he knelt down to pick it up, he spotted Peter, who inwardly groaned. Ned frowned at him, which caught Tony's attention.

"What're you looking at?" he asked. "Is there something else broken?"

"No, Mr Stark," Ned said quickly. Tony tutted, clearly not convinced, and glanced under the workbench himself, to find Peter laying on the floor.

"So, _that's_ where you'd gotten to," he grumbled. "Get up." Peter nodded and scrambled back to his feet. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I, uh... I must have fallen asleep," Peter lied.

"On the floor? Don't tell me you did something so stupid to knock yourself out?" exasperated Tony. Peter shook his head. "Well, since I can't get anything out of your friend, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, or am I going to have to ask FRIDAY?"

"It was an accident, Mr Stark, honest," Peter said quickly. Tony nodded shortly. "We-we were just looking around and we wanted to see how the suits work."

"So, instead of waiting for me to come back, you decided to take it upon yourselves to take my tech?"

"We're sorry."

"And what, I suppose you flew into the window?"

"No. We-we couldn't get it to fly."

"So what the hell happened?"

"I was care-careless and broke it with the gauntlet," Peter confessed, hanging his head. 

"He didn't mean to, Mr Stark," Ned said. 

"And the car?"

"Also an accident," Ned told him.

"Quiet you, you've had your chance," Tony snarled. "Peter, what on earth happened to my car?"

"We were trying to get-get the suit to fly," Peter murmured softly, "and it-it didn't work. The boot came off and flew into the car."

"Did the suit survive in one piece?"

"No."

"So you tried to put it back as if it was to trick me?"

"Yes, Mr Stark." 

"It was me who-who did that," Ned said. "That-that wasn't Peter's idea."

"Anything else you want to add?" Tony asked, rounding on the shorter boy. Ned shook his head.

"We-we tried to get FRIDAY to delete your security footage," Peter said softly. Tony groaned. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and shook his head. 

"You-" he pointed at Ned, "just go-go over there, to that corner." Ned shuffled off to the corner where the paint was kept without a second glance. "And you, Peter, just-just stand over there." Peter crossed the room to the corner ahead of the door. "I'm-I'm going to attempt to calm down, you're not to move a muscle. If you do, I'll have FRIDAY tell me, got it?"

"Yes, Mr Stark," Ned murmured.

"Yes, sir," Peter replied softly. 

Peter stood in silence, shame and guilt and fear welling up in his chest as he stared at the wall ahead of him. He could hear Ned's uneven breathing across the room and the soft hum of the Spider-Man files circling, but he tried to drown them out. He wanted to call out to Ned, joke that they weren't dead yet or offer his friend some sort of reassurance, but he couldn't find the words. Tears welled to the corners of his eyes as he internally counted the seconds that past. 

When Tony returned, he had changed from his suit and was holding a mug of coffee. He placed the mug onto the desk and turned off the blueprints for the suit. "Both of you, get here," he demanded. Peter turned around and shuffled towards the centre of the room. "What were you thinking? You know what, you so clearly weren't that I don't need an answer." Ned bowed his head as Tony spoke. "You're actually ridiculous. So, what am I supposed to do with you now?"

"We'll pay for the damages," Peter said quickly.

"Yeah, we-we'll get jobs and pay you back," Ned added. Tony laughed.

"That suit cost more than most people see in their lives," he told them. "That's without the window of my mansion or the vintage car." Ned nodded shortly. "Anything shorter than professional jewel thief won't cover that," Tony tutted. Peter didn't know whether he could chuckle or not, so chose not to. 

"I hate to be rude, Mr Stark, but I think we should probably be going," he said, nodding at the clock.

"Yeah, yeah okay," Tony sighed. "I'll just tell May what the hell you've done to my workshop and let her deal with it." Peter widened his eyes and stared at his friend.

"Could you- could you not do that?" Ned asked softly. Tony stared at the boy.

"So you want me to punish you here instead?" 

"I-I guess."

"Alright, alright," Tony muttered. "Peter, get back in the corner!" Peter obeyed. 

Peter couldn't make out Tony's exact words to Ned, but moments later he heard the boy grunting and peered over his shoulder to see him bent over the work bench, trousers at his knees, while Tony slashed his belt against his black boxer briefs. Peter attempted to calm his own breathing as he heard his friend struggle and wither in pain. Peter wrung his hands together as he heard Tony mutter something. Ned sobbed, but the walloping slowed down and eventually stopped. "You alright, kid?" Peter heard Tony asked. He couldn't understand Ned's tearful reply. Tony sent the boy back to the corner with his trousers still to his knees, before summoning Peter. 

"Over the bench, kid," Tony instructed. Peter nodded. He stared at the back of his hand as he felt Tony unbuckling his belt. "Gonna give you a few good licks and then it'll be done, alright?" Tony murmured in his ear. Peter nodded shortly. Tony rubbed his back and threw off the boy's jeans, bringing his underwear to the floor with him. Peter gasped. "Ready?" Tony asked. 

"But- but Ned-" Peter argued, indicating to his friend whose boxer briefs were still on display.

"Peter, you and I both know that your friend doesn't have the pain tolerance you do," Tony said darkly. Peter gulped and nodded. "Good. Ready?" Peter shut his eyes as he felt the first blow hit his bare skin. He jumped. Tony shushed him and rubbed his back before applying the next blow. Really, the belt didn't hurt Peter all that much, but it was the anticipation and knowledge that Tony felt forced to do this that hurt the most. He was in tears before the tenth blow even landed. Tony rubbed his back, murmuring encouragement to him as he applied the next ten. He then inspected his handy- work and gave the boy a little time to catch his breath back, before continuing the next set. "Ten more, okay," he whispered into Peter's ear. "Then we're done." Peter nodded. Tony held nothing back as he applied the last ten smacks to Peter's bare ass and pressed his palm to the heat once they were done. "Go back to the corner," he told him. Peter bent down to grab his trousers, but Tony prevented him from doing so.

"Mr Stark-" Peter began to complain.

"Now, Peter," Tony demanded. Peter puffed but didn't have the energy to argue, so he returned to the corner. 

Peter could hear Tony drinking his coffee and teetering around the lab while he stood there, red ass on display. He felt more embarrassed than ever as he wondered if Ned had glanced over at him at any time. Peter didn't know how much time had passed before he heard Tony whisper something to Ned. He heard Ned leave the room and bit his bottom lip as Tony approached his corner. "You okay, kid?" Tony asked kindly. Peter nodded. Tony rubbed his back comfortingly. "You do anything like that again and I'm going to tan your hide every day for a week, got it?" 

"Yes, Mr Stark," Peter said hurriedly. 

"Alright, well, sort yourself up and go freshen up in the bathroom," Tony told him. Peter nodded and pulled his boxers and jeans back over his stinging rear. "I'll have Happy drive you home."

"We really are sorry, Mr Stark," Peter muttered. Tony sighed and nodded.

"I don't doubt you are kid. Now, go ready to go home, yeah?" 

"I could get a job at Delmar's and help you pay for some of it," Peter offered. 

"No, kid," Tony chuckled. "Just go home. I'll be in touch when we can look over the suit, okay?" Peter nodded. Tony smiled at him before he bounded out of the workshop, not looking forward to sitting in the New York traffic.


	36. Tom & Sam & Harry Holland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a story Tom told about supervising his brothers' party.  
Chapter contains spanking of a minor.

Tom was sat on his bed, flicking through notes for his recent audition when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He frowned, hoping that it was not his father coming to complain about something his dog had bitten or his parking. He jumped to his feet and crossed the room to throw open the door, and was pleasantly surprised to see his youngest brother staring at him. "Alright, Padster?" Tom asked. "What's up?" 

"Mum wants you in the kitchen," Paddy told him. Tom's face fell; maybe he wasn't out of the woods just yet. 

"Now?"

"I think so, yeah," the preteen told them. Tom groaned.

"Alright, thanks, Padster." The boy nodded and padded to his own room, while Tom slipped on his slippers and strode towards the kitchen. 

Mrs. Holland was leant against the counter in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, when Tom plodded in. His brothers, Harry and Sam, were sat on the wooden table behind her. Their eyes were on Tom as he leant against the island. "Paddy said you wanted to see me," Tom muttered as he glanced around the room, looking for a possibly shame-faced Tessa. 

"So, Tom, you know your father and I are headed to your grandfather's next weekend?" Mrs. Holland asked. Tom nodded shortly. "Well, the twins are wanting to throw a house party while we're gone."

"So, can I go out to meet Ella?"

"No. If the twins are going to throw a party, I need you to supervise them," Mrs. Holland snapped. Tom noticed his brothers staring pleadingly at him and resisted the urge to role his eyes. 

"You want me to spend my weekend hanging out with some sixteen year olds?" groaned Tom. 

"I'm sure you can bring a few of your own friends," sighed Mrs. Holland, "but I can't have the boys and their friends here without supervision."

"What about Padster?" 

"I think he's hoping to go to a sleepover." 

"Please, Tom," Harry begged. "We'll clean up and we won't bother you." Tom huffed. Mrs. Holland shook her head at the twins.

"Go on, Tom," pleaded Sam. "It's _one_ night." 

"Alright," Tom sighed. The twins beamed. "How long are you expecting people to stay?"

"Only a few hours," Harry shrugged. Tom nodded. 

*

Tom actually found that Saturday night wasn't too bad; he spent most of the evening in the garden, drinking Guinness with Harrison and listening to the drivel that some of the twins' friends told him as they ranted about teachers and homework and other things that Tom supposed really mattered to him three years ago. He was confident that the night would be a success, until he heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Tom dropped his beer and darted to the door, only to find that he had been locked outside. Tom cursed loudly and banged his fists against the glass, peering in at the crowd in the kitchen, but nobody came to his aid. He could see Harry amongst the crowd and thought that they had made eye contact, but Harry made no effort to help him. 

Tom marched back to the garden furniture, where Harrison was now setting up beer pong with a sandy haired boy Tom found somewhat familiar. Tom took his jacket from his chair and pulled out his phone. First, he tried ringing Harry, but his brother didn't pick up, so, instead, he rang Sam. When Sam didn't pick up, Tom cursed and finished his Guinness, before he returned to the sliding door. "What's wrong, mate?" Harrison questioned. 

"We're locked out," Tom grunted. 

"Shit," Harrison murmured, following him. "I need to piss." 

"Good luck with that," Tom huffed. He noticed that Harry was still in the kitchen, surrounding what appeared to be a girl laying on the floor around smashed glass. Tom narrowed his eyes and began knocking on the door again. Harrison continued to knock the door, while Tom tried ringing his brother again. 

Tom was thoroughly pissed after watching Harry glance at his phone and shove it back into his pocket, refusing to answer Tom. Tom kicked the nearby plant pot and saw as it fell and shattered, flying dirt at his white sneakers. Harrison chuckled at him. "Get fucked, Haz," Tom hissed. Harrison continued to laugh. 

"You know what Tom, if we get inside, I will get thoroughly fucked on _your_ bed." 

"You will not," Tom puffed.

"Fine, fine, maybe I'll use your parents'."

"You're disgusting," Tom told him, shaking his head. Harrison chuckled. 

Harrison broke after less than an hour of banging on the door. Tom watched as Harry and his friends swept up the broken glass and convinced the intoxicated girl to get off the floor, while Harrison turned to urinating in the grass, his back to Tom. "I've officially seen too much of you, mate," Tom said. Harrison glanced over his shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. "Your ass is on full display," Tom told him. Harrison chuckled. "Those poor flowers," Tom sighed as Harrison jogged back over to him. 

"It was just dandelions and stuff," Harrison replied. "They're weeds."

"They didn't deserve it," Tom said miserably, before knocking on the door again. 

Tom, Harrison and the small group of teenagers in the garden were rescued by a timid girl who appeared sheepish around Tom, not that he was sober enough to notice. By this time, most of the party had dispersed, but Harry could still be seen on the sofa with two of his friends, drinking beer from the bottle. "Where's Sam?" Tom asked sharply. One of the boys snorted.

"Upstairs," he told him, waggling his eyebrows. "With Jessica." Tom rolled his eyes. 

"Can you get everyone out?" he asked Harrison softly, who nodded. 

Tom found Sam on the landing outside of the upstairs bathroom, talking to a girl with long, curly brown hair. The girl smiled at Tom as he clambered upstairs and past him to plod downstairs. "Alright, Tom?" Sam questioned.

"Go to bed, Sam," Tom demanded. Judging by the state of his brother, attempting to have a conversation with him at that moment. 

"What crawled up your ass?" drawled the younger brother. Tom rolled his eyes and pushed his head in the direction of his room. 

*

When Tom woke the following morning, he realised how much of a mess the house was in. There was urine all over the bathroom floor, broken bottles in almost every room and it appeared that someone had been physically ill in Paddy's bed. Tom made himself some eggs on toast before he marched back upstairs and banged the door of his brothers' rooms. "Wha' is it, Tom?" groaned Sam as Tom pushed the door open. 

"Come downstairs," Tom said, forcing himself not to laugh at his brother, who had his shirt on the wrong way round. 

"I'm so fucking tired," Sam grumbled.

"I don't really care, Sam." 

"Alright, alright," Sam groaned, before Tom shut the door. He had to knock on Harry's door again, but when opening the door found that Harry was still asleep. Tom pulled off his duvet and shook his head at his brother, who had gone to bed in his jeans. 

"Oi, Harry," Tom hissed, leaning over his brother. Harry jolted awake and glowered at his brother.

"Tom? What the fuck do you want? What time is it?" 

"Get dressed and come downstairs," Tom demanded. 

Tom had finished two mugs of tea by the time that the twins entered the kitchen. Sam was wearing a cleaner shirt now, but Harry was still in his crumpled jeans. Both walked sluggishly and still appeared half-asleep. "What's up, Tom?" Sam asked. 

"I was locked outside yesterday for nearly three hours and neither of your answered your fucking phones! What if something awful had happened?"

"Sorry, Tom, I-I didn't realise," Sam said quickly. "I was-I was distracted and-"

"Why was the door even locked in the first place? Harrison put a brick there to allow people to go back and forth."

"One of Harry's mates locked it," Sam shrugged.

"I dunno," Harry yawned. 

"Why weren't you answering the phone?"

"I didn't hear it ring."

"Bullshit! I saw you in the kitchen. You literally took it out of your pocket and put it away without answering!" Tom flared. Harry's cheeks flushed red. Sam laughed.

"Oh, mate, you dickhead."

"How you didn't hear me banging on the door from where you were stood, I'd never know."

"I-I was distracted, alright," Harry sighed. "Leo knocked over a shit ton of bottles trying to do a backflip."

"Yeah, we saw the mess. _And_ the unconscious girl."

"What?" Sam questioned. Harry shook his head.

"Dad's gonna kill you, boys," Tom sneered. Sam groaned.

"Please don't tell him, Tom," he begged. Harry nodded in agreement. Tom huffed.

"And miss you getting your comeuppance? Why would I do that?"

"Why do you want to see us get our asses whipped?" groaned Harry. 

"You know they probably won't let you throw another party," Tom told them. 

"Can't we come to an agreement, Tom?" Sam inquired. "Come on, your first party didn't go great."

"Yeah, I know, and I was more than willing to help before I was _locked outside_ and _deliberately ignored_ by my brothers."

"I'm sorry, Tom," Sam said. Tom rolled his eyes. 

"Try and get some cleaning up done," he told them. "I'm heading for the shower." 

After Tom had showered and changed, he was headed back to the bathroom to dispose of his towel when Harry tapped him on the shoulder. "How's the clean-up?" Tom asked dryly. 

"Can you stop for a sec?" Harry asked. Tom threw the towel into the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at his brother. 

"What?"

"Do you remember when Dad was at the fringe so he left you in charge of us over the summer?"

"Yeah. You trashed my room."

"Yeah-yeah, and instead of telling dad you-you decided to punish me yourself."

"What's the point of this, Harry?" 

"Can't-can't you do that this time?" Harry asked softly. Tom raised an eyebrow.

"You want me to beat your ass?"

"I-I think it's the best option for everyone; you get your payback for us being dickheads, mum still thinks we're responsible and we'll be allowed to throw another party, right?" Harry droned. Tom hummed thoughtfully. 

"What does Sam think of this?"

"He's reluctant but in agreement." 

"Alright," Tom shrugged. 

Tom followed Harry down the stairs to the living room. The boys had done their best to clean most of it, but Tom still noticed beer tops around the fireplace. "Sam, get rid of those," he barked. Sam nodded. Tom glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and found that they still had plenty of time before their parents returned. "Alright," Tom sighed as Sam returned. "You probably don't know this but when we were younger Grandpa Bob had rules to determine what sort of punishment we- me and our cousins- would get. Since you both clearly _deliberately_ decided to be a little twat and not answer your phone, even though it could have been something serious, you're going to get a more severe punishment than otherwise, okay?"

"Okay," Sam whispered. Harry nodded dumbly.

"Alright, Sam go to your room, Harry go to mum's and go and pick out a belt each."

"Why does he get his own belts?" huffed Harry indignantly.

"All of yours are bigger than his," Tom shrugged. "It would feel like a whack with a book or something. By the way, Sam, if you come back with some massive belt it'll only be worse for you." Sam nodded.

Tom waited on the armchair as he heard his brothers' footsteps pacing upstairs. Sam hurried down as soon as possible, clutching a thin, worn belt that was once Tom's and handed it to him. He offered Tom a small smile, a clear plea for him to go easy on him, but Tom just clucked his tongue and continued to wait for Harry, who was obviously stalling, to join them. When he did arrive, he was carrying a belt thinner than Sam's that was probably thinner than anything Tom had ever received, but he felt he deserved it. "You took your time," chuckled Sam. Harry rolled his eyes and handed the belt to Tom, who dropped both onto the coffee table. 

"Alright, Harry, go stand in the corner," Tom barked. Harry nodded and shuffled to the corner of the room like a small child in time out. "Trousers down, Sam," Tom demanded. Sam shot him a pleading look. "I don't have all day."

"Come on, Tom," Sam said weakly. 

"Either you drop them or I will," Tom told him. Sam shook his head, but dropped his sweats to reveal his lack of underwear. Tom guided him over the arm of the sofa and wasted no time in applying three sharp whacks to his bare behind with his palm. Sam gasped. "Ready?" Tom asked. Sam nodded, eager to get it over with. Tom brought the belt to his brother's rear. Sam gasped and Tom was clad that they'd locked the windows, or else the neighbours my be making complaints. 

"Gah," Sam groaned as Tom whacked him twice more. "I-I'm s-s-sorry, Tom," Sam moaned. Tom rubbed his back, but delivered another blow to his ass. Tom delivered another three before he saw Harry glance over his shoulder.

"Eyes on the wall, you," Tom barked. Harry nodded.

"Ah, shit, Tom, stop," grunted Sam. 

"You don't tell me when to stop," Tom snapped. Sam nodded and winced as Tom applied another stroke. He didn't want to stop just to spite Sam, but looking at the damaged flesh before him he knew that he couldn't continue without risking seriously harming his brother. "Alright, we're done," he sighed. He slowly helped Sam to his feet and ruffled his hair. "Swap places with Harry," he said. Sam nodded and stood in the corner, crimson rear on display as Harry sulked towards the eldest Holland brother. 

Tom hit the thinner belt against his hand a few times as he watched Harry approach, a sheepish grin on his face. Tom nodded at him. "Drop them," he said. Harry sighed. "Now." 

"I am sorry, Tom," Harry muttered. His head was bowed and he was unable to meet his brother's eyes. Tom rubbed the boy's shoulder comfortingly, but narrowed his eyes at him.

"Jeans, Harry," he said. Harry nodded and unbuckled his jeans. Tom yanked them down until they were at his knees and bent him over the arm of the sofa. "I gave Sam a warm up with my hand," Tom muttered, "but since you have these-" Tom slapped Harry's blue boxers "-you don't need it." Harry nodded. 

"O-Okay," Harry whispered. Tom watched him brace himself before he slashed the belt against his rear. Harry jolted forward. Tom placed a hand on his back to stabalise him and continued his assault of his right cheek, before moving onto the left one. "Fuck me," Harry growled. "I'm sorry." Tom rolled his eyes as he heard Sam chuckle from the corner.

"Shut it, you," Tom ordered. Sam fell silent. Tom brought the belt to the top of Harry's thighs. 

"Fucking hell, Tom," Harry whined. "I'm sorry. I-I'm s-s-so fucking so-sorry." Tom shook his head as he heard Sam laugh again. Tom whacked Harry's ass again and crossed the room to smack his palm against Sam's wounded rear. 

"Shut up," Tom told him. Sam nodded and winced, while Tom padded back to where Harry was biting into his knuckles. "Don't do that," Tom chastised. Harry groaned, but released his knuckles from between his teeth. Tom smacked his belt against Harry again twice in quick succession. "Alright," he sighed. "Go stand in another corner from Sam." He helped Harry to his feet and ruffled his hair, while Tom plodded into the kitchen.

Tom wondered how much the twins could hear as he shuffled around the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He collected their mother's wooden spoon from one of the draws and strode back into the living room. "Sam, come here," he called. He placed his tea on the coffee table and watched as Sam waddled towards him. "Over the arm," Tom instructed.

"Again?" Sam groaned.

"This one's for lying to me when I asked why you didn't pick up," Tom told him stiffly. He heard Harry gasp in the corner, but ignored him. Sam widened his eyes pleadingly, but Tom stood firm. Sam leant over the arm of the sofa and huffed. 

"Just hurry up," Sam requested. 

"Alright, alright," Tom chuckled. "Since you're getting it bare, I'm only giving you ten, yeah?" Sam nodded shortly. Tom smacked the spoon down three times onto Sam's left cheek, before bringing it down thrice onto his right. 

"Aw," Sam gasped. Tom ran a hand through his brother's hair comfortingly as he applied two strikes to each of his thighs. 

"Pull your sweats up and head back to the corner," Tom told him. Sam complied swiftly. "Harry, here, now," Tom barked. Harry nodded and crossed the room. "You can either take off your boxers and have ten strikes, or leave them on and have twenty, it's your call." 

"L-Leave them on," Harry muttered. Tom nodded and bent his brother over the arm of the sofa. He wasted no time in beginning to rain strikes down onto his brother's rear. Harry gulped and gasped as Tom spanked, but did not complain.

"Alright," Tom muttered after about a minute. It probably wasn't quite twenty whacks, but Harry looked exhausted enough. "You'll probably need a nap before mum gets home." Harry nodded and gingerly tried to pull up his jeans. "I don't recommend that," Tom chuckled. Harry nodded and proceeded to kick off the jeans entirely. 

"Can I leave the corner now?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah," Tom sighed. He patted Harry's back as he left the room and smiled at Sam. 

"So... you're not gonna tell mum, right?" Sam asked.

"That was the deal," Tom shrugged. Sam nodded and gingerly gripped his brother into a hug, which Tom leant into. He ruffled his brother's hair and helped him rearrange his sweats. "Go lay down or something," Tom told him. Sam nodded and headed upstairs while Tom collected his cup of tea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of the 'party' series.


	37. Dom & Tom Holland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a story Tom told about supervising his brothers' party.  
Chapter contains parental spanking.

Tom had hung up his mother's belt back in her wardrobe and was headed to Sam's room to return his when he heard the front door fly open. His parents were a bit later than he had expected, but it gave the twins longer to nap. Tom knocked on Sam's door and smiled as the tired teen pulled the door open. "This is yours," Tom muttered, offering him the belt. Sam's cheeks flushed pink. 

"Thanks," he murmured. Tom nodded and turned to head to his room. 

"Go to your room for a moment, Pads," he heard Mr Holland say. He heard Paddy head downstairs to his room, before he shut his door. However, Tom hadn't even reached his bed when he heard Mrs. Holland call.

"Boys, can you come down here?" she called from the foot of the stairs. Tom heard Sam's door creak open and followed him downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Holland dropped her handbag onto the counter. "Where's Harry?" she asked. Sam shrugged. Mrs. Holland huffed and crept past them to march upstairs.

Tom and Sam were sat at the table when Mrs. Holland returned with a weary-eyed Harry. Harry nodded at them and ran a hand through his hair. "How hungover are you?" Mr Holland asked as he shuffled into the room. Harry shrugged.

"You clearly drank too much," tutted Mrs. Holland. Sam chuckled. 

"Can you boys follow me?" Mr Holland requested, although Tom could tell that he wasn't really asking. Tom nodded and tailed Sam out of the kitchen and down the hallway, to the downstairs bathroom. There, he saw that the floor was still stained with urine and that there was clingfilm under the toilet seat. "Care to explain this?" Mr Holland asked, his eyes on Sam. 

"I dunno what happened there," Harry said from behind his brothers. "I don't remember using this bathroom." Mr Holland narrowed his eyes at Sam, who shrugged. 

"Was this a joke from one of your friends?"

"I don't think so," Sam replied. 

"Why didn't you at least clean it up?"

"I didn't know it was a problem," Sam sighed. 

"So, nobody knows what happened?" Mr Holland asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Tom sighed.

"I-it was me," he confessed. Mr Holland raised an eyebrow at him. 

"What the hell, Tom?"

"Haz and I-"

"So it was Harrison's fault?"

"No, not at all," Tom said quickly.

"Can I go back to bed?" Harry murmured. "Now we know it wasn't me."

"Fine," exasperated Mr Holland. Harry patted Tom's shoulder as he shuffled past to head to the staircase. "What the hell were you thinking?" Mr Holland asked his eldest. 

"Haz and I saw how much Harry was drinking, so we thought it would be funny if he got piss all over himself," Tom murmured. 

"And then you just forgot?"

"Yeah," Tom sighed. "We got distracted with other things and I completely forgot about the prank." 

"Sam, go-go to your room or something," snapped Mr Holland. Sam nodded. "You, come with me." Tom nodded also. 

Tom followed their father into the living room, where the man fell onto the armchair and stared at his eldest. "We asked you to be responsible and supervise your brothers, and yet you became more of an issue than they were," grumbled Mr Holland, "am I right?" 

"I'm sorry," Tom said. "I-I'll clean it up."

"Oh, yes you will," Mr Holland grunted, "and once you're done, you can clean your mother's car."

"Alright," Tom muttered. He turned to the doorway, but Mr Holland gripped his arm. 

"Not yet," Mr Holland said. "This is unacceptable. Drop your trousers." Tom inwardly cursed.

"Dad, I- come on," he argued, deflated. 

"I'd treat your brothers the same if it was them."

"Come on, Dad, I'm nineteen."

"If you want to behave like a child, I'll treat you like one," retorted Mr Holland. "And don't forget, you're still living rent free in my house."

"What, so the ultimatum is get my ass whipped or pay rent?" Tom snorted.

"Of course not," Mr Holland said, "your mother would never allow that. This isn't a discussion, Tom. Drop your jeans now or your pants go down to." Tom realised that there was no point in arguing, so he unzipped his jeans and leant over the arm of the sofa. "It's been a while, but I trust that you know how this works," droned Mr Holland. Tom nodded. 

"I-I'm not wearing a belt," he said. Mr Holland sighed. Tom heard him unbuckle his own.

"Usually I'd give you twenty," Mr Holland told him, "but this belt is thicker than usual, so I'm going to give you forty." Tom nodded, not eager to argue. 

Tom bit his bottom lip hard as Mr Holland's belt hit his boxer-clad arse. He dug his fingernails into the cushion and inhaled sharply as he heard his mother's footsteps in the hallway. Mr Holland whacked the belt down for the tenth time when Tom cursed under his breath. "Do you need a breather?" Mr Holland asked. Tom shook his head. Mr Holland rubbed his eldest's back and continued to apply the next ten blows. Tom jerked uncomfortably, but was unable to get away. "Half way there," Mr Holland told him. "Are you alright?" Tom nodded. 

Tom's eyes were puffy when Mr Holland finally finished. He dropped his belt onto the floor and tugged the young man into a hug. "Don't be so stupid again," Mr Holland told him, "or else we'll end up right here again." Tom nodded. "Alright, well, you might want to put on more comfortable trousers, but then you have a bathroom to clean." Tom nodded again and hurried away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 2 of the 'party' series.


	38. Dom & Paddy Holland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a story Tom told about supervising his brothers' party.  
Chapter contains spanking of a minor.

Dom heard Tom muttering under his breath as the young man got to work scrubbing the bathroom tiles clean. He chuckled at his son's disgruntlement and headed down to the basement, where Paddy's room was located. 

Dom found Paddy sat on his bed when he reached his youngest's room. The boy was staring at a piece of dirt under his fingernail and had left the door ajar. "How was the sleepover?" Mr Holland asked. Paddy shrugged. "Mrs. Dillon said that she was happy to have you," Mr Holland said as he approached the bed and sat beside his son. "She said you were polite and well-mannered. However, Mr Dillon did notice that you and Adam were playing football inside."

"Oh," Paddy muttered.

"Do you remember anything about that?"

"We weren't doing it for long."

"You know not to play ball inside here and I don't expect you to act any other way in someone else's house." 

"Sorry," Paddy said quickly.

"You know not to play football inside, Paddy, it's not a new rule," lectured Mr Holland, "let alone at two in the morning."

"We didn't know that it was that late, honest," Paddy told him. 

"What happened in the shed?"

"What?"

"Mr Dillon said there was damage done to the shed."

"Oh, right, yeah," Paddy said sheepishly. "We took the ball outside and Adam tried to kick the ball to me, but it was dark and I missed and it went right into the window of the shed."

"Paddy, you know full well that we wouldn't allow that behaviour here," Mr Holland chastised. Paddy nodded glumly. "Come on, Pad, let's get this over with." Paddy groaned and stood up. He stared at his father and at his jogging bottoms, but Mr Holland did not make him remove them and just dragged him over his lap. 

Mr Holland gave Paddy a moment to adjust before he began peppering the preteen's rear with smacks. Paddy wrung his hands in his duvet as Mr Holland continued to smack his son's rear. "S-s-s-s-sorry, Dad," Paddy murmured. Mr Holland nodded, but did not cease his smacks. He waited until Paddy's face was flushed pink with tears, before he let up and began to rub his son's back. 

"Are you alright?" Mr Holland inquired. Paddy nodded and sniffed. 

"Y-Yeah," he said. Mr Holland helped the boy lay onto his bed and ruffled his hair, before he headed out of his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 3 of the 'party' series.


	39. James Rhodes & Tony Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-series. Set in MIT era.  
Contains spanking of a minor.

Tony could see his breath turn into steam as he crossed the sidewalk towards the dorms. It was cold and late and he was tired, so he decided that it would be better for him to head to his friend's instead of find his way back to his own, off-campus apartment. 

Tony ran a hand through his hair to shake out the raindrops as he marched up the three flights of stairs it took to get to Rhodey's floor. There was a shirtless girl in a short skirt at the other side of the corridor, banging on one of the doors, so Tony made sure not make eye contact. He was tempted to bang on Rhodey's door, too, but didn't want to risk waking his roommate, who was already not particularly fond of Tony, so he did what any tired teenager at two in the morning would do and used a paperclip he found on the floor to pick the lock.

Tony was quite proud of himself. He clicked the door shut behind him as quietly as possible and shuffled to the kitchen. He had intended to just grab himself a drink of water, but he found a loaf of bread on the counter and decided to make himself a sandwich. He raided Rhodey's fridge for ham, lettuce and butter and was about to take a bite when he heard footsteps approach. Tony turned around, a smirk on his face, when he felt something hit his stomach. "Shit," Tony groaned. He doubled over and winced as he was hit over the back of the head. He dropped to his knees and grunted. "What the fuck?" he growled, looking up at Rhodey, who was staring at him, eyes wide. 

"Tony? What the- why the- what the hell are you doing here?" Rhodey spluttered. Tony rubbed the back of his neck as Rhodey dropped the baseball bat onto the couch behind him.

"I-I was coming back from a club and-and-"

"You what?" Rhodey asked sharply. Tony shrugged. Rhodey sighed and helped the teen to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you drunk?"

"No, my head just fucking hurts," grumbled Tony. 

"You're sober?"

"Yeah," Tony shrugged. "Is it that unbelievable?" Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "They wouldn't sell me anything," Tony sighed. Rhodey chuckled. 

"You are an idiot," Rhodey told him, before he snatched half of the sandwich from Tony's plate. Tony scowled. "I'm surprised Leo let you in."

"He didn't," Tony shrugged. Rhodey raised an eyebrow. Tony smirked and pulled the paperclip out of his pocket, but Rhodey's face was clouded by anger. Tony frowned. "What?"

"Have you no idea what an invasion of privacy that is?" Rhodey growled. Tony shrugged. "It's literally illegal. You can't do that."

"I only wanted to nap, Rhodey."

"You have a fucking apartment, remember?" Rhodey flared. Tony frowned. "You have a big fucking apartment that daddy pays for that means you don't need to gain access to _my_ shitty flat." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Rhodey stormed off. 

Tony stood frozen in place, his eyes on the ticking clock, as he attempted to run the sequence of events he had just experienced in his head. Tony rubbed the back of his neck and stared longingly at his sandwich, but decided to follow Rhodey to his room. He knocked on the door and took a slight step backwards. Tony waited and hoped that Rhodey would talk to him, but it didn't seem likely. "Rhodey?" he called through the door. The door, finally, was thrown open and Rhodey scowled at him. 

"So you do know how to knock?" he sneered. Tony hung his head. "What on earth made you think that you could break into my apartment? What if Leo had caught you?"

"Sorry."

"See, I don't think you are sorry, though, Tony, I just think you feel bad because someone's got an issue with you."

"_Everyone_ has an issue with me, Rhodes, you're not special," Tony snarled through gritted teeth.

"Oh, poor Tony." 

"They do," Tony said hotly. "They all think I'm some weird little kid."

"You _are_ a weird kid."

"Gee, thanks," Tony scoffed. Rhodey shook his head. 

"Go home, Tony," he said softly. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Can you stop being mad at me? You're my friend, that's not how this works."

"You can't- oh, piss off."

"What?"

"Tony, you can't just invite yourself to someone else's apartment."

"You said I could come over whenever cos we're friends, remember?"

"Yeah, but you can't break in. Knock or something."

"I didn't want to wake Leo."

"And stomping around the kitchen helped with that."

"I could build you an alarm," Tony offered, "so then you won't need the baseball bat. Which, by the way, you shouldn't leave on the couch if it's your burglar- deterrent." Rhodey couldn't help but chuckle.

"Go home," he said softly. Tony groaned.

"Please let me stay."

"Tony, just go away; I'm not in the mood right now."

"I'm sorry."

"You're clearly not," Rhodey retorted heatedly. 

"I _am_," Tony insisted. "I am very sorry."

"Why shouldn't you have broken in, Tony?"

"It made you mad."

"Really? Not because it was an invasion of privacy? Not because it was fucking illegal? Not because it was an all-round stupid thing to do? Do you ever _fucking_ listen to anything I say?" Rhodey growled. Tony stared, eyes wide in shock at his friend's outburst. Rhodey shook his head. He paced along the length to his closet and back, before gripping Tony's arm and hauling him into the room.

"What-what're you doing, buddy?" Tony asked nervously.

"Someone needs to teach you a lesson," Rhodey snarled, "and if it's not me, it's going to be some guy in a bar beating the shit out of you." Tony gasped.

"What're you gonna do to me?" he inquired softly. Rhodey didn't reply. Instead, he got to work removing Tony's jeans while the teen gaped at him in shock. Once Tony was left in just his underwear, Rhodey practically threw him over the bed. 

"You're not an idiot," he muttered as he collected a ruler from his desk and applied it swiftly to Tony's rear.

"Leave my ass alone," Tony whined.

"Quit acting like an entitled brat."

"Fuck you." 

"Learn. When. To. Shut. Your. Mouth," growled Rhodey, punctuating each word with a whack. Tony fell silent. "Breaking in," Rhodey smacked him, "stealing food," Rhodey smacked him again, "seeing no reason to why that's a problem," Rhodey smacked him twice for that one, "ignoring me," Rhodey smacked him again.

"Did-didn't ignore you, Rhodes," Tony said. "Just-just got the wrong end of the stick." 

"Right," Rhodey snorted.

"Honest," Tony muttered, before his ass was met with another two smacks. Rhodey pulled down the boy's boxers and Tony gasped. "C'mon, Rhodey, you're-you're not my dad. Stop it."

"No, but I am your friend and you need a serious attitude adjustment." Rhodey peppered the tops of Tony's thighs with smacks, before dropping the ruler. 

Tony buried his face in the duvet as he struggled to get his breath back. He had bit his lip so hard that he was bleeding and had hoped that Rhodey's roommate hadn't heard them. Rhodey helped Tony kick off his shoes and jeans, before helping him rearrange his underwear. "Do you want a pair of sweats?" Rhodey offered. Tony shrugged. Rhodey rubbed his back and retrieved a pair from his closet. 

"'M sorry," Tony offered weakly as Rhodey handed them to him. Rhodey nodded.

"Just try and respect people's boundaries more," he told him. "Like a door, or a wall." Tony nodded. He pulled the sweats on and winced as they touched his burnt ass. 

"What did you hit me with?" Tony asked. Rhodey flicked his lamp on and showcased the ruler. "Burn it," Tony groaned. Rhodey chuckled. He threw off his shirt and waved to Tony as the teen headed for the couch, before jumping into bed. 


	40. Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a teen.  
Pre-series.

Dean woke up in a bed that wasn't his. His bare chest was drenched in sweat and there was a strangely smelling blanket covering his waist. He rolled over and his nose was hit by the scent of coconut shampoo and bleached blonde hair. He leant into the warm body beside him and sighed contently. "Thought you weren't a cuddler?" the girl murmured, smirking. Dean chuckled lowly and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. He was more than content to fall back to sleep when he saw the neon red light from the alarm clock on the bedside table and cursed under his breath. "What's wrong?" the blonde asked sweetly. "Leg cramp?" Dean chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sliding out of bed. The girl stared at him, confused. "I have to go."

"What? Why?"

"I'm late to meet my brother," Dean grumbled as he retrieved his shirt and jeans from the floor. He slid on his boots and zipped up his jacket, resigning himself to crossing the street in his state of undress.

"See you around, I guess," the girl murmured sleepily.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you at Damien's on Friday, right?"

"Totally." 

The girl was asleep by the time that Dean had collected his cheap phone and his rucksack. He clambered out of the bathroom window and jumped from the garage roof to the paved sidewalk below. He jogged around the corner and across the street to a seemingly deserted bus stop.

The bus stop was not entirely abandoned, however, because a young boy with a mop of shaggy hair was sat on the floor, his legs crossed and his head in his hands. "Heya, Sammy," Dean murmured as he approached. Sam stared up at him with a scowl. Dean felt his stomach drop but he more than deserved it; not only had they missed their bus but he was well over an hour late. "I-I got caught up with-with things," Dean muttered sheepishly. Sam scoffed. 

"Bobby said he tried to call you," he whispered. Dean's face fell.

"Bobby?" 

"Yeah," Sam muttered. He seem to have mistook Dean's fear for anger as he curled himself into a ball. "I-I got scared and -"

"You knew I'd be here," Dean groaned as he unzipped his rucksack and inspected his phone. He found that he did have six missed calls from Bobby and cursed under his breath. 

"I thought something bad had happened to you," Sam whispered. Dean shook his head. Sam reached out to hug his brother, but Dean pushed him away, causing the boy to fall to the ground. "Where were you?" Sam asked glumly. "Why aren't you wearing clothes?"

"I'm wearing clothes," Dean said, indicating to his jacket. Sam rolled his eyes. "When's the next bus?" Dean asked as he inspected the timetable. Sam shrugged. Dean took a flashlight out of his rucksack and inspected the list.

"It's nearly midnight, Dean," Sam murmured. "I don't think that there _is_ another one." Dean shook his head. 

"So, we're stranded?" he groaned. 

"We could call Bobby," Sam suggested.

"Why would we do that?"

"We're headed to his house anyway." 

"And we'll get there." 

"How?"

"Hitch-hiking," Dean shrugged, smirking. "Come on." Sam shook his head. Dean began to stride down the pavement, but Sam didn't follow.

"Dean? Dean! Dean, come back!" he called. "You're being an idiot!" 

"Come on, Sammy!" Dean shouted. Sam shook his head stubbornly. Dean groaned and stopped in his tracks, turning around to face his brother. Sam jogged over to him and yawned.

"There's a payphone down the road, by the postbox," he told his older brother. "Bobby won't want us to hitch hike in the middle of the night."

"You worry too much," Dean chuckled. 

"Don't be an idiot, Dean."

"What Bobby doesn't know won't hurt him," Dean shrugged. 

"Are you insane? What type of weirdos do you think will be driving to South Dakota at this time of night?" 

"It's better to be productive than to sit and wait for Bobby." 

"No, it's not," argued Sam. 

"Don't be difficult, Sammy," huffed Dean. He pushed his brother's head and turned on his heel. Sam kicked his knee, causing Dean to drop in agony. Sam snatched Dean's jeans from him and raced back towards the bus stop and round the corner, out of sight. Dean cursed. 

Dean dashed after his brother, to find him already in the phone box. Dean cursed. He kicked the back of the booth aggressively, which caused Sam to jump, clearly startled, inside. Dean opened the booth and hung up the phone. He pushed Sam to the corner of the booth and snatched his trousers back. "What the hell, Dean?" groaned Sam. Dean slipped his shoes off and tugged on his jeans. "I don't have any more quarters," Sam snapped. Dean shrugged and forced his boots back on. 

"Well, fuck you." 

"I was trying to talk to Bobby, Dean," Sam moaned. "I didn't get to tell him where we are."

"Why the fuck are you taking my stuff?"

"You were nearly two hours late!"

"Doesn't give you a right to steal my jeans."

"If you turned up wearing your bloody trousers, _on time_, this wouldn't be an issue."

"I've never wanted to slap you more," Dean growled. Sam stared, his eyes wide. Dean was much taller than he was, seeing eye to eye with their father now, and it that moment he had never resembled John more. 

"I'm sorry for kicking you," Sam mumbled. Dean scoffed. He forced his way out of the phone booth and sat on the wall outside. Sam followed him. "I-I was just annoyed," he said. Dean ignored him. "You weren't listening to me or what I was saying. Hitch-hiking would be a terrible idea." 

"Get the fuck away from me, Sam," Dean spat. He stood up and stormed back towards the corner.

"You can't leave me!" Sam called. "DEAN!" 

Dean didn't walk far, but he knew himself well enough to know when he was about to lose it. He clenched his fists so tight that his nails broke the skin of his palms and internally cursed himself and his brother. Dean knelt down to tie his shoelaces when he saw a few coins on the sidewalk in the light from the house behind him. He collected the coins and strode back towards where Sam was sat on the wall. 

"You're back," Sam said once he spotted Dean. Dean nodded. Sam smiled and rushed over to him. 

"I found some money," Dean said, offering him a quarter.

"Found?"

"Yeah, on the sidewalk." 

"Right," Sam said. He didn't seem to believe Dean, although Dean couldn't fathom where else he'd get money at that time of night, but he accepted the money and rushed into the phone box. 

Dean was half asleep when Bobby pulled up in his old truck. Sam was eager whenever a pair of headlights drove past, but even he was growing tired when Bobby finally turned up. "I took a wrong turn," he explained apologetically as Sam clambered up. Bobby ruffled his hair while Dean shuffled after him.

He didn't know what to say; Bobby had known that he had left Sam alone and that he had let his anger get the better of him, but Bobby smiled at him as he clambered into the truck beside his brother. "You look exhausted, boy," he commented. Dean nodded.

*

Dean slept well that night, uninterrupted by Sam's snoring. Sam was still asleep when Dean was woken by Rumsfeld's barking. He threw on a pair of black shorts and a t-shirt, before he clambered downstairs. He opened the back door, allowing the dog outside, before he plodded into the kitchen. "Oh good, you're up," Bobby noted. Dean nodded. "I was hoping to talk to you before your brother got up." Dean grimaced. He attempted to smirk, but it didn't work well. 

"Oh?" Dean murmured, feigning confusion.

"Don't play games, boy," Bobby told him. Dean nodded shortly and followed Bobby into the library. 

Dean awkwardly sat on the couch while Bobby put away some books that had been left on the coffee table. He had a pretty good idea of what was coming to him and while he wouldn't deny that he deserved it, he wasn't looking forward to it. 

"Do you know how scared that brother of yours was when he rang me last night?" Bobby said after some silence. "He said he had waited for nearly an hour and there was no sign of you. Your daddy told you what time he'd be getting back from the library and you weren't there." Dean nodded, unsure what to say. "He was worried that you were hurt or that he was at the wrong place or that you'd gone without him; it was awful to hear." 

"Sorry," Dean said quietly. 

"I'm sure you are, boy, but that just isn't right. Poor kid. Imagine how scared you'd have been if you were his age and your daddy didn't meet you," droned Bobby. Dean nodded. "So, where were you?"

"Pardon?"

"Why weren't you with your brother?"

"I-I got distracted."

"Distracted?"

"Something came up." 

"Were you at a bar?"

"No, sir."

"Where you with a girl?"

"Yes, sir," Dean muttered. He hung his head. 

"So, what, meeting your brother wasn't as important as meeting up with a girl?" 

"I-I didn't plan on being there for that long." 

Dean did not complain when Bobby directed him over the side of couch. He had some complaints when Bobby removed his boxers, but he soon fell silent. Bobby wasted no time in plastering Dean's rear and thighs with his belt. Bobby rubbed his back as Dean gripped one of the cushions. "Ouch, shit," whined Dean. 

"Calm down," Bobby chastised. "It's not over yet." Dean nodded and winced as the next three hits made contact with his heated skin.

"Ah... ouch."

"Five more," Bobby murmured. 

After the last set had been applied, Dean leapt from the couch to rearrange his clothes. Bobby rubbed his back and looked away as the boy wiped tears from the corners of his eye. "Do you want breakfast?" he asked. Dean shrugged. "You can eat in here, if you want," Bobby suggested. Dean shrugged again. "Whatever, boy, I'm hungry," Bobby chuckled, before he padded out of the room. 


	41. Fleamont & James Potter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains parental spanking of a minor.  
Pre-series.

Sirius was overjoyed when he received the owl from Mrs. Potter inviting him for Christmas. He and James had been speaking about it all week, but he was never sure whether it would actually come to fruition, so when an unfamiliar owl dropped a letter onto his lap when he was waiting for his friends to join him for breakfast, Sirius was both relieved and excited. 

Sirius, James and Peter said farewell to Remus, who was staying at Hogwarts, and padded to the hogwarts express. "I feel bad for him, y'know," Sirius muttered as he followed James into the compartment.

"Huh?" James questioned.

"Remus," Sirius explained. "He's going to be alone in the dorm for Christmas." 

"Apparently there's something going on between his parents and he hasn't been invited back because of it," James replied. 

"I still feel bad that he'll be alone." 

"I invited him to come to mine," Peter said as he closed the door behind them, "but he says he'd prefer stay at school." Sirius nodded.

*

Sirius enjoyed being at James' house; his parents were nice, the house was warm and there was always enough food to go around. Sirius found he spent more time than he had expected around James' parents as often they spent the evenings in the living room drinking hot chocolate and listening to the fire crackle as Mrs. Potter finished her enchanted knitting. 

Although Sirius had been given one of the guest rooms, he spent most of his time with James in his. One day, he returned upstairs with a slice of cake from the kitchen to find James rummaging through his trunk. "What're you doing?" Sirius inquired as he spooned some of his cake into his mouth. 

"I just got an owl from Peter," James said, sliding out from under his bed. "He's bragging that his father bought him this cool pocket watch."

"What?"

"Well, I can't let Peter think he has cooler stuff than me, can I?"

"So you're looking for a pocket watch?" 

"No," James sighed, "I don't have a pocket watch. My dad does, though, but it's in his room."

"What're you going to do with it?"

"I need to take a picture of me holding it to send to Peter; look." James thrust a picture of Peter smirking at the camera, holding up a rather large pocket watch. 

"So, why don't you ask your dad to borrow it?"

"It's an heirloom," James sighed. "He'd never let me."

"What're you going to do, then?" 

"I need to cause a distraction so I have time to sneak in and take the picture."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Aha!" James exclaimed, before he pulled out a stack of stink pellets from within his trunk. "These should do."

"Your mother will kill you," Sirius chuckled.

"Not if she doesn't know it was me," James shrugged. "So, you in?"

"What do I have to do?"

"Just keep look-out."

"So I'm Peter?"

"I guess," James laughed. 

Although unenthusiastic, Sirius stood outside of the kitchen as James dropped the stink pellets. "Here," he said, handing another pack of four to his friend, "try and drop these if it clears too quickly." Sirius nodded and watched his friend dash upstairs as Mr Potter came striding out of the living room. 

"What's that awful odour?" the man inquired. Sirius shrugged.

"I'm not too sure," he lied. Mr Potter shook his head. 

James could hear his father's voice as he sped away from the stairs and to his parents' room. The door was locked, so he raced into his bedroom to retrieve his wand. He could hear his mother start to panic now, so he quickly unlocked the door and slammed the door behind him. He studied the old, mahogany dresser pressed up against the wall and began to ruffle through the draws. He found the pocket watch in the third draw he checked, so he shoved it in his pocket and slammed the shut. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs growing louder by the second, so he sped out of the room.

Unfortunately for James he got only as far as the staircase when he tripped over the small, wooden table his mother used to display a vase of sunflowers. He leg snapped and the vase came tumbling down as James nose-dived onto the carpet, the leftover pellets falling out of his pocket in a flurry and exploding then and there. James cursed his luck as he was faced with the unimpressed scowl his mother bore. 

Mrs. Potter practically dragged James downstairs to where Mr Potter and Sirius were in the kitchen, inspecting the bin for foul odours. "I think we found the problem," Mrs. Potter announced. James saw Sirius' face fall when he glanced over his shoulder to see James in the doorway. James smiled at him, but Mr Potter seemed to read the smile as a smirk. 

"Do you think this is funny?" he hissed. James shook his head. "What did you do?" 

"I-I dropped stink pellets in the kitchen," James murmured. Mr Potter widened his eyes.

"And upstairs," huffed Mrs. Potter.

"That was an accident," James said. 

"A likely story," scoffed Mr Potter.

"No, seriously, it was! I tripped!"

"Go to your room, James," Mr Potter demanded. James nodded. "How bad is it?"

"Awful," sighed Mrs. Potter. "And he broke my vase as well." Mr Potter shook his head.

"Let me see," he grumbled.

Sirius waited for the Potters to be upstairs before he rushed up to James' room. He caught sight of Mr Potter attempting to mop up the spilled water on the floor, which couldn't have been good for his back at his age, but he was not seen. He didn't bother knocking before pushing the door open of James' room, where he found James leaning out of his window. Sirius cocked his head. "What're you doing?" he asked.

"I sent the picture to Peter," James shrugged.

"You got it?" Sirius asked. James nodded. He pulled the pocket watch out from under his pillow and smirked. "I'm sorry," Sirius muttered. 

"It's fine," James shrugged. "Blame my two left feet."

"I should have been a better lookout; I didn't even realise that your mother had gone upstairs."

"It's fine," James repeated. "But, just so you know, I'm going back to using Peter." Sirius chuckled and sat on James' bed. 

Sirius was not there long before Mr Potter marched in and demanded that he left. Sirius nodded and offered James a small smile, before he padded out of the room, shutting the door behind him. "What were you thinking?" Mr Potter hissed. James shrugged. "What on earth were you doing?" 

"It was just a joke," James shrugged. 

"A joke? What, polluting the kitchen and outside our room is a joke to you?"

"Upstairs was a genuine accident, dad," James whispered. Mr Potter clucked his tongue. 

"I don't know what to do with you sometimes. Why were you outside our room in the first place?" huffed Mr Potter. James wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question, so he held his tongue. Mr Potter sighed. "And you and your friend have been so well-behaved all week," he muttered. James nodded. "Come here, boy," Mr Potter demanded. James nodded and strode over to his father, who wasted no time in pulling his trousers down and hoisting his son over his lap. James was clearly too big for this kind of treatment, but Mr Potter didn't care. "Count them," he said, before laying his palm to his son's behind.

"One," James whispered. "Two. Three. Four." His voice was getting softer with every hit and by "T-t-ten," he was shaking. Mr Potter removed the boy's boxers with little fight from the boy and continued to pepper his behind with smacks. "Twen-twenty, ouch, sir, I'm sorry," James whined. "Twenty-one. Twenty-two." 

"Keep counting," Mr Potter ordered. James nodded. 

Mr Potter only stopped when James was unable to form a sentence through his tears. Mr Potter rubbed his son's back softly and let him recompose himself, before he strode out of the room. James slipped into his en-suite to wash his face when he heard a knock at the door. "Yes?" he croaked.

"It-it's me," called Sirius' voice. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," James sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck as he turned the tap off. James replaced his glasses and plodded out of the bathroom.

"You okay?" Sirius asked. James nodded. "Did, uh... did you tell your dad that I knew about it?"

"No," James shrugged. "It didn't come up in conversation." Sirius chuckled. 

"Your mother said dinner will be ready soon," he said. James nodded. "So, what's the plan now?" Sirius asked.

"I need to find a way to get the pocket watch back into my dad's room before he notices it's gone," James muttered. Sirius chuckled. 


	42. Tony Stark & Harley Keener

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains spanking of a minor.

Harley Keener was a smart kid. Tony recognised that the first time that he met him, however, he also noticed that the kid could talk circles around just about anyone. He had dazzling blue eyes and a cocky smirk that let him get away with most things. Tony, however, refused to let the boy pull the wool over his eyes. 

Harley was in New York for a robotics program and Tony had invited him to spend a few days at the penthouse to show him some of his new suits that he was so interested in. Tony showed him the workshop, including his cars, which appeared to be a mistake as when he ventured downstairs to the following afternoon, unsure where his young guest had gone, he found one of his Audis to be missing. Tony cursed and ordered FRIDAY to track the car down. 

Tony took his newest Audi and sped down to the park where the car was parked. Tony looked around and found that there was no sign of his young friend, so he clambered out of his vehicle and sat on the bonnet of the vehicle to await his return. 

To say that Harley was surprised to see Tony was an understatement. The boy took one look at the man and rushed back into the park. Tony shook his head, but decided to rush after him, ignoring the stares that he got, until he caught up with the boy, who appeared to be trying to hide behind a large crowd. Tony crept up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hi," Harley said awkwardly. Tony scoffed. "How're you? How're things?" Harley asked conversationally. 

"Drop it," Tony said sternly. Harley nodded. "You're a bit of an idiot, aren't you," Tony chuckled. Harley rolled his eyes. "How did you expect this to go?"

"I hoped you wouldn't go to the workshop, I guess," murmured Harley. Tony placed his hand on Harley's shoulder and steered him out of the park. 

"Follow me," Tony demanded, slapping the front of the car. Harley nodded. 

Harley considered taking the wrong turn as they drove back to Tony's, but he thought that if Tony could find him there then he would just find him again, so he didn't bother. 

Once they got to the compound, Tony walked with his hand firmly on Harley's shoulder so the boy couldn't go anywhere. The boy was taller than him, now, but that didn't make a difference as his knees turned to jelly. "Where are you taking me?" Harley questioned as Tony steered him upstairs. Tony didn't reply and led the boy to the guest room that he had given him. Harley apprehensively sat on the bed while Tony went into the en-suite. 

"So, you know since you're staying here Pepper and I are acting in _loco parentis_?" Tony asked conversationally.

"Sure," Harley said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. 

"And you know that sneaking off with my car is a transgression, or else you would have told me and wouldn't have _ran away_ when you saw me." 

"Yeah." 

"And since you're staying here you accept that I can deal with those transgressions as I see fit?"

"Where is this going?" Harley inquired, "cos I'm not about to agree to wash all eight hundred and two or whatever of your cars." 

"Just drop your trousers and lean over the bed, Harley," Tony barked as he re-emerged. Harley scoffed. Tony had done this once before, when he was much younger, and he had kicked and fought the entire time. He was older now, stronger, bigger; he could probably win if he tried to fight Tony on it, or at least had a better chance, but what would be the point. Grumbling under his breath, Harley dropped his sweats and leant over the foot of the bed. "How many do you think you deserve?" Tony asked.

"Eight," Harley suggested through gritted teeth. Tony chuckled.

"Why do you suppose that?"

"It was an R8, right?" 

"You're insufferable," Tony sighed, "but I _do_ like your thinking, so if we say 8 for stealing my keys, 8 for stealing my car, 8 for sneaking out and 8 for running away we get a total of, what, mathlete?" 

"Thirt-thirty two," Harley mumbled.

"That's right," Tony said, slapping his thigh. Harley winced. 

Harley got through the first sixteen without a bother. Tony didn't hit as hard as he recalled and the boxers offered more shielding than he had anticipated. However, after the sixteenth blow, Tony retreated to the en-suite and returned with the heavy hairbrush. Harley winced when he heard Tony swing it behind him. "Is-is that really necessary?" Harley questioned. Tony chuckled.

"Face front, you," he ordered. Harley complied. 

"Is this a scare tactic?" he wondered. Tony responded with two quick smacks to his left cheek. Harley groaned. Tony pulled the boy's boxers down and continued to spank the rear in front of him until the tanned skin was crimson and sore. "Ouch, shit, fuck off," Harley moaned. Tony clucked his tongue and applied one more for good measure, before dropping the brush onto the floor. 

Harley wasn't like Peter. After a sore punishment, Peter would let Tony pull him into a hug for comfort, but Harley pushed him away, choosing to immediately re-dress and attempt to wipe his eyes stealthily. Tony ruffled his hair and padded out of the room, willing to give the boy some space, but loudly telling FRIDAY to inform him if Harley tried to sneak out again. 


	43. Fleamont & James Potter & Sirius Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains parental spanking of a minor (s).

As much as Sirius liked James' house, he also liked the freedom that the Potters gave them to wander the nearby muggle village. They found a park at the edge of the village that was seldom used by the villagers due to the winter snow and cold weather. They also found a small pub that sold hot chocolate with marshmallows that was so good it even rivaled what was served at hogwarts. Sirius would ensure that they stopped at the pub on the way to the park, where they would sit on the swings. 

They usually head back after the nearby church would chime six o'clock but James wanted to head back early on Christmas Eve because he wanted to listen to the radio with his parents and he needed a shower first. Sirius agreed, he still had a few presents he needed to send off since Mr Potter had been willing to let him use his owl. As they strode through the centre, James looked around while Sirius fished for coins in the fountain that they could use to buy themselves another hot chocolate for their travel home. Sirius regretted not bringing his scarf as he waited outside for James to return with their beverages. 

Sirius wiped his muddy boots on the mat before entering Potter Manor. James had run ahead of him after splashing each other with puddles, and was in the corridor with Mr Potter when Sirius arrived. Sirius smiled in greeting, but Mr Potter did not smile back. Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Come with me, boys," Mr Potter said gravely. Sirius nodded, not risking a glance at James. 

Mr Potter led them upstairs to to James' room and gestured at the boys to sit on James' bed. Sirius frowned when he realised that the bed sheets and duvet cover had gone. "What's up, Dad?" James asked as he ran a hand through his hair. 

"Your mother came up to sort your bedding out while you were out," Mr Potter said, "and she found this-" he pulled his pocket watch out of the pocket of his waistcoat "-under your pillow. Do either of you know anything about this?" Sirius glanced sideways at James and wrung his hands together. James was usually a confident person, even bearing a cocky smirk under the glower of Professor McGonagall, but something about his father's glare shook him. "No?" Mr Potter inquired.

"I-I took it," James confessed quietly.

"You don't say. Why?"

"To take a picture of it."

"To take a picture of it? Why? Are you trying to sell it?"

"No, no, no," James said quickly. "I just wanted to impress my friend."

"Are you impressed?" Mr Potter asked Sirius.

"Not him," James whispered. "Someone else."

"Who?"

"Peter."

"Peter?"

"You met him at the station last summer," James sighed. "Short boy with mousy brown hair."

"Ah, yes, I do recall. Well, was he impressed?"

"He never replied." 

"How'd you get the watch, James?"

"I took it from your room last week."

"After dropping the stink pellets?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you know about this?" Mr Potter asked, rounding on Sirius, who nodded shortly. "And you didn't tell us?" Sirius nodded again. "Did you not think to tell James that he shouldn't be stealing things as his friend after all?" Sirius shook his head, his eyes fixed on Mr Potter's old slippers. "You've had this a week?" Mr Potter questioned.

"Yes, sir," James replied.

"Why didn't you put it back if you only wanted a picture?"

"I never had the opportunity to do so, sir."

"Sirius, go downstairs, please," Mr Potter barked. Sirius nodded and showed himself out of the room. James dropped his gaze to his hands and bit his bottom lip as Mr Potter beckoned him towards him. 

James gripped his mattress as Mr Potter tanned his hide with his belt. It was thin and sharp, whooshing through the air and leaving crisp, red marks on the barely-healed flesh. James was sobbing by the twentieth hit, but his father didn't stop. James tried to wipe his eyes, but the tears kept flooding as Mr Potter continued. "Last ten, son," he said sternly. "Count."

"One," James wailed. "Two. Three. Four." 

"Keep going."

"Five," James sobbed. "S-six. S-s-seven. Eight. N-N-"

"That's not a number."

"Nine," groaned James. Mr Potter nodded. "Ten! Ten!" Mr Potter slid his belt back into his trousers and helped James out of his muggle jeans. 

"Have a shower," he told him. James nodded. "Your mother's baked apple tart to have later." James grinned.

Mr Potter marched downstairs to the front room, where Sirius was studying yesterday's newspaper. "Sirius, a word," Mr Potter droned. Sirius glanced up at him. Mr Potter stared expectantly, so Sirius followed him out of the room and upstairs to Mr and Mrs. Potter's master bedroom. Sirius was sat on the foot of the bed while Mr Potter sat on the stool in front of the mirror opposite him. "I am not impressed that you helped James with this," Mr Potter told him sternly. "You boys may get yourselves in serious trouble one day and I expected you to have a more sensible head on your shoulders." Sirius nodded. "I know you may not see this as my place to do so, but you are a friend of James' and I want to guide you in the right direction, so lean over the tail of the bed." Sirius nodded again. He ran a hand through his hair and did as instructed, not wishing to anger the man further.

Mr Potter used his palm against Sirius' red boxers and began to pepper him with smacks and spanks. The boy winced and tried to wiggle away, but Mr Potter held his hip to keep him in place. Only when Sirius was blubbering and whimpering apologies did he stop. "Are you alright?" he asked kindly. James was a proud boy, it had been years since he had sought out comfort after a punishment, but he was aware that not all children were the same. Sirius nodded shortly. "You sure?" Mr Potter asked. Sirius nodded again. "Go and have yourself a shower, then," the man said kindly. "Once you come downstairs, we'll make a start on the apple tart."

"You don't have to wait for me," Sirius mumbled.

"We will," Mr Potter told him. He offered him a comforting smile before padding out of the room. 

Sirius turned the corner to James' room as James was headed towards the stairs. His hair was still wet and his glasses were askew, so he couldn't have been out of the bathroom for long. "Sorry," James muttered. Sirius frowned. 

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry, Sirius," James pressed and Sirius could tell that he was entirely sincere.

"Why? I'm the one that got you caught." 

"I shouldn't have roped you into this in the first place."

"It's fine," Sirius shrugged. "What're friends for?" 

"Not getting their asses whipped," James sighed. Sirius rolled his eyes. "I hope I haven't turned you off coming 'round again; I like the company."

"Course not," Sirius said through a grin.

"You good?"

"Yeah. I do need to use your shower, though."

"Go ahead," James shrugged. He ruffled Sirius' hair as he past him and dashed downstairs, the smell of apple tart and mulled wine flooding the air as he neared the kitchen. 


	44. Lucas Sinclair/ Mike Wheeler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underage.   
Set between seasons 1 and 2.

Lucas often slept at Mike's house. When they were younger, he often slept in a sleeping bag on Mike's bedroom floor, but as they got older and they started having sleepovers as a group on a more regular basis, the Wheelers surrendered their basement to them. That was the plan for that particular Friday night, however, Mrs. Byers decided, last minute it seemed, that Will could not attend, so it was just Mike and Lucas alone in his basement. 

Mike always got the couch. It was his house so that was how it worked. Since there was a lack of competition this time around, however, Lucas got the armchair in the corner. 

Lucas often woke first. Will was the earliest to rise, but if Will wasn't there, it was likely Lucas who arose first. It didn't come as a surprise to Lucas when he woke that Mike was still sleeping. He snored into the cushion his head was rested on and murmured incoherent sleep-talk while Lucas padded past him to use the bathroom. Lucas brushed his teeth and stared at the bags under his eyes in the mirror, before turning on his heel and heading back out into the basement. It was cold in the bathroom, which reminded him that he shouldn't wander around in just his boxers. He was in the process of retrieving a clean shirt from his rucksack when he heard a muttering. "Huh?"

"Lucas," Mike murmured.

"Yeah, man?"

"Lucas 's tha' you?"

"Yeah, Mike," Lucas chuckled.

"So warm," Mike groaned. Lucas frowned. "You're mouth is so warm." Lucas glanced over his shoulder to see that Mike was clearly still asleep and grinding his hips into the couch. Lucas widened his eyes, unsure how to react. Mike continued to murmur his name as he sped up his thrusting.

Lucas couldn't take it any more. A small tent was growing in his own pants as he rushed to the bathroom. He filled a cup with water and flung it all over his sleeping friends. "Fucking hell," Mike swore. "What're you doing?"

"What are you doing?" Lucas asked. He nodded to the stain in front of his friend's boxers. Mike's cheeks flushed red.

"I am so, so, so, s-sorry," he spluttered. "I- you- did you hear- I mean-"

"I heard you," Lucas sighed. Mike buried his face in his hands. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"As you should be," huffed Lucas. "How come you never told me?"

"What?"

"We're best friends, Mike, and you never told me that you liked me. How come?"

"Never came up in conversation," Mike shrugged. Lucas chuckled.

"You know," Lucas said, suddenly serious. "I am disappointed in you. Look at this-" he gestured to his own growing erection "- all because of you."

"I am sorry," Mike said in a falsely sweet voice. "Let me make it up to you."

"Go ahead."

Mike made it up to him by stripping off his boxers and leaning over the end of the couch, allowing Lucas to see and hit his rear. "This doesn't seem like much of a punishment," Lucas muttered after the third strike as Mike continued to moan into the couch cushion. He hit his palm against both of Mike's cheeks at once and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm rewarding you," he muttered. Mike raised an eyebrow. "Want to see how warm my mouth really is?" Lucas asked. Mike thought he would faint. 

Lucas balanced the head of Mike's pink cock on his tongue as he hollowed his cheeks. Mike was more of a mouthful than he had anticipated and was struggling to keep quiet. "I'm nearly there," Mike whispered. Lucas pulled away and buried the boy's cock in his own discarded underwear. "I'll have to wash those, now," Mike grumbled. Lucas nodded. He began to rub himself through his boxers and sighed. "Want a hand?" Mike asked. Lucas shrugged. Mike got to work removing Lucas' underwear and wrapping his hand around the pulsing erection. He spat on his other hand and tickled his fingers down the cock and he rubbed and jerked his friend. Lucas felt his eyes roll to the back of his head as Mike knelt down to lightly puff over the head of his cock.

"Not-not gonna last," Lucas whispered hoarsely.

"So soon?" chuckled Mike.

"You're damn- damn good at that." Mike beamed at the praise and lowered his head to take Lucas' cock into his mouth as the boy sprayed. Mike swallowed everything Lucas gave him and winked up at his friend once he had finished. Lucas had to sit down as he felt weak at the knees at the sight. Mike sniggered. "My cum looks good on you," Lucas said. He wiped the remnants from the corner of Mike's mouth and offered his finger to him, which Mike happily lapped up. 

"I hope Will misses next week too, now," Mike muttered.

"Even if he does, Dustin will probably be better by then," Lucas sighed.

"Maybe you could stay two nights next weekend, then," Mike suggested.

"Maybe," Lucas shrugged. "I need another nap." Mike chuckled and shuffled into the washroom. 


	45. Tom & Harry Holland 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains disciplinary spanking of a teenager.  
Set post- homecoming.

Tom was attempting to teach Paddy how to do a back flip in the garden when Harry came downstairs. Paddy didn't appear to be having much luck of it, but he was more persistent than Sam had been when Tom had attempted to teach him. "Are you sure you want another go, Pads?" Tom asked. He was obviously tired of demonstrating himself, but the younger Holland nodded eagerly. "Alright," Tom sighed. 

Paddy had still not managed to entirely flip by the time that Tom decided that he had had enough. In frustration, Paddy had kicked over one of the sprinklers as he had marched inside, so Tom was left to straighten it out. "Are you okay?" Harry asked as his brother stormed past him.

"No," Paddy puffed. "I was getting good, too, but Tom isn't giving me enough time." 

"That doesn't seem fun."

"No, it's not," grumbled Paddy. "He told me that it would be fun and it's just not."

"He seems to be struggling with the sprinkler," Harry noted. "Why don't you go out to help him? Tell him that he was being unfair?" 

"I hope the sprinkler covers him in water," Paddy chuckled. "He _never_ listens." Harry shrugged. 

"Do _you_ want to cover Tom in water?" he asked. Paddy chuckled.

"Pay-back," he said, smirking.

Harry and Paddy strode out of the house and around the driveway to the outdoor tap. It was primarily used for the hose, but Harry unattached the hose once they arrived so they could position a rather large bucket that they had found in the garage underneath. Harry dipped his hand in the water and smirked when he realised how cold it was. "He's going to _hate_ us," Paddy chuckled. Harry held a finger to his lips to silence him and jerked his head in the direction of the garden gate. Harry turned the tap off and peered over the gate to see that Tom was sat on one of the garden chairs, his earphones in and his eyes on his phone. Paddy stood on his tip-toes beside him and smirked. 

Either Tom was completely oblivious or Harry and Paddy moved a lot quieter than Harry had anticipated. He had to press his hand to his brother's mouth to mask the boy's giggling as they approached the window. He saw Sam in the window and winked at him, but his twin just shook his head and sauntered away. Harry nodded at Paddy as they approached Tom and threw the water, and bucket, at the oldest Holland brother. "RUN," Harry mouthed. Paddy nodded and quickly sped back out of the garden gate. Harry went to follow suit, but Tom had gripped his leg.

"You little dick," Tom hissed, pulling the bucket off his head with one arm. He dived to the floor, tackling Harry as he did so, and growled. "What the fuck?" Tom growled. Harry chuckled, before Tom shoved his head into the mud. Tom clambered from his brother and threw his wet t-shirt onto the chair behind him.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Holland called from the doorway. "What's with all the swearing? We have neighbours, don't you know?"

"Blame this one," Tom growled as he ran a hand through his damp hair. Harry snorted.

"Oh, Harry," groaned Mrs. Holland. "Why did you go and do that? Last I saw you, you were working in the kitchen."

"Yeah, Harry, what the f- what on earth?" Tom grumbled.

"I-it was just a - a joke," Harry spluttered through his laughter.

"You're the only one laughing, Harry," Mrs. Holland said seriously. Tom nodded and kicked his brother's foot. "That wasn't necessary," Mrs. Holland snapped.

"Sorry," Tom muttered quickly. 

"Get up," Mrs. Holland exasperated. Harry bit his bottom lip to stifle his laughter as he pushed up from the ground and forced himself to his feet. "Just wait until your father gets home; he's not going to be happy."

"Mum, look-" Harry argued.

"No. Save it, I'm not listening. Your father can deal with you when he comes home."

"Why wait for dad? I can deal with him," Tom said darkly. Mrs. Holland studied him thoughtfully, a finger tapping her chin.

"Alright," she eventually said. Harry widened his eyes.

"What? Mum-mum I'm eighteen, come on!" he groaned. Tom rolled his eyes. 

Not impressed with his argument, Mrs. Holland did not accept Harry's arguments and told Tom that, if he so wish, he could indeed deal with his younger brother. Harry pouted. He sat in the armchair in the living room as he waited for Tom to come out of the shower and stared at the empty fireplace. At some point, he heard Paddy rush inside and downstairs and he could hear Mrs. Holland in the kitchen behind him. "Can I get a cup of tea?" Harry called. 

"You're supposed to sit there and wait," Mrs. Holland told him.

"And I have been doing that," huffed Harry. 

"I'll make him one," Sam sighed. Harry hadn't even realised his brother was in the kitchen, but nodded appreciatively, although he was unsure if Sam could see him. Mrs. Holland tutted, but did not forbid him. 

Sam came into the living room holding his own mug when he placed Harry's cup onto the coffee table beside his knee. Harry nodded at him. "You know," Sam said quietly as he sat on the arm of the armchair, "you should probably tell Tom that Paddy was involved, too."

"What's the point?" Harry shrugged. 

"He'll probably be less pissed if he knows you had an accomplice," Sam muttered, "and Paddy was clearly the one with a motive."

"I guess."

"It's also not fair for him to get away with it and for you to take all of the blame."

"It is what it is," Harry sighed. "I didn't get away fast enough, that's all. There's no point dragging Padster into this." 

"He'll probably feel really guilty knowing you got whacked and he didn't," Sam murmured. Harry shrugged. 

"Sam," Mrs. Holland called from the kitchen, "leave him alone now." Sam rolled his eyes and patted Harry's shoulder, before he strode back into the kitchen. 

Mrs. Holland and Sam had left the kitchen when Tom bounded downstairs. Harry didn't know where they had gone, but he wished that he was with them and not staring at his muddied trainers as his older brother took a bottle of water from the fridge and approached him. "You have two options," Tom told him. "We either do this down here or in my room." 

"I don't care," Harry muttered.

"No? Well, let me explain; down here we have more of a chance of being walked in on, but less of a chance of being heard, whereas in my room we have no chance of being walked in on, but it's likely Sam will hear." 

"They're both terrible options," grumbled Harry.

"Sure, but which one would you prefer?" Tom questioned. 

"What about my room?"

"For one, Sam is still likely to hear, and besides, then you wouldn't get the walk of shame." 

"Ha ha ha," Harry said dryly. Tom smirked. "Upstairs," Harry said after a pause.

"Pardon?"

"I want - I'd prefer if we go upstairs," Harry murmured. Tom nodded.

Tom's room had more boxes than it did furniture as the man was preparing to move the last of his things into his new apartment. Harry knew that Paddy was eager for him to go so he could have the bedroom, but Mrs. Holland was not. Harry sat at the desk chair and watched as Tom cleared the bed of underwear and magazines that he was supposed to be sorting out. "Porno collection?" Harry asked, waggling his eyebrows. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Oh, no," he said. "'S old stuff Grandpa kept about me and school."

"Really?" Harry asked, feigning interest.

"A lot of it is just talking about Primary school sports day raising money or something," Tom sighed, "but some of it is about Billy Elliot." Harry nodded and leant over to inspect the cover of one magazine. "Why?" Tom asked suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Why did you cover me in cold water?" Tom inquired seriously. Harry shrugged. "That's just great, isn't it?" Tom scoffed. "Just- just come here, then." Harry nodded; he could tell that he had made Tom even more frustrated, but he couldn't just say that it was because he felt bad that Tom had pushed Paddy away because that would lead to more questions and Tom could tell when he was lying. Harry got up from the chair and crossed the room to the bed. Tom pulled down his jeans and boxers in one swoop and lowered him over the foot. It was lower than it needed to be, but they made do. 

"I-I'm sorry," Harry said. Tom nodded and rubbed his back. He opened his wardrobe and took out one of his newer belts, before he returned to stand behind his brother. 

"I'll do you a deal," Tom said. "If you tell me why you threw a bucket of water on me, I'll half your punishment. If you don't-"

"You'll double it?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. Tom frowned.

"No, no," he said. "But you'll get the full one."

"How many is that?" 

"Never you mind."

"How can you try to convince me into telling you without letting me know what the incentive is?"

"It's half," Tom said shortly.

"You're weird."

"Are you not going to tell me?" 

"No." 

"Right," Tom sighed. 

Tom started by giving Harry ten whacks with his palm. He started at his thighs and made his way up until his cheeks were flushed with a tinge of pink. Only then did he take the rather large belt and begin to swing at the target offered to him. Harry tried to writhe and wiggle away, but Tom managed to hit both cheeks effortlessly with the belt. Harry groaned. "Calm down," Tom told him. "We're only half way there." Harry nodded and winced as Tom continued to hit his arse until his skin was red and angry.

"Shit," Harry groaned. Tom chuckled. He strode over to the wardrobe and deposited the belt back inside. "Are-are we done?" Harry questioned.

"No," Tom replied. He took a smaller, more worn belt from one of the bags inside the wardrobe and returned to the bed. "Brace yourself," he commanded. Harry gritted his teeth as the first blow his his abused cheeks. Harry more or less squeaked indignantly. "Three more," Tom told him.

"R-really?" Harry moaned. Tom chuckled and applied the second whack. Harry shuddered. Tom applied the third and rubbed his palm along the visible strike on Harry's rear, causing the teen to shudder and wince again. Tom rolled his eyes.

"Ready?" he asked. Harry nodded. 

"Get-get it over with," he grimaced. Tom snorted and applied the final blow with the belt. 

"You good?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Deep breaths," he instructed. He dropped the belt back into the wardrobe and opened the draw of the bedside table to pull out an old, wooden hairbrush. He waved it in Harry's face as Harry let out a choked sob. "Ten of these," he said. "Then we're done for good." Harry nodded. Tom applied the first strike and inspected his handy work; the red skin was turning a bruising purple now and Harry had tears streaming down his face. The teen sobbed into Tom's duvet as Tom applied another two strikes, one to each cheek. "Raise your ass a bit," Tom told him. 

"What?"

"Raise. Your. Ass," Tom punctuated each word with a strike. Harry obeyed and stood on his tip toes to lean over the bed high enough to Tom could apply the remaining four strikes to his sit spots. Harry keened and moaned as Tom dropped the brush and began to massage the injured skin with his hands. "You okay?"

"So sorry," Harry sobbed. Tom helped his brother up and pulled him into a tight bear hug, rubbing his back and ruffling his hair.

"No more stupid pranks," he muttered. Harry nodded and went to pull up his jeans. "No, no," Tom said. "Go to your room first." Harry groaned. With his hands in front of his groin for privacy, he padded out of Tom's room and into his own, praying that his parents would not come out of theirs. He sat on his bed and kicked off his jeans, before searching his own wardrobe for something more comfortable and plotting his revenge. 


End file.
